


[ART + FIC] Merlinktober 2020: The Long Way Home

by schweet_heart



Series: Digital Art [30]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Transformation, BAMF Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Bathing/Washing, Battle Couple, Bedsharing, Canon Typical Violence, Digital Art, Digital Painting, Disguise, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Manipulation, Fairy Tale Elements, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hostage Situations, Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Making Out, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Merlinktober 2020, Minor Character Death, Oblivious Merlin (Merlin), Pining Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Prophetic Dreams, Prophetic Visions, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Merlin, References to Illness, Sharing Clothes, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, War Crimes, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 32,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: Merlin and Arthur are on the road to Mercia when they are set upon by bandits. At first, it seems like just an ordinary ambush, but they soon discover that things are not as they appear. And more than one secret may be revealed on the road...Created for Merlinktober 2020.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Digital Art [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/798525
Comments: 1145
Kudos: 829





	1. Gone Fishing

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: this is unfiltered, unedited, and completely unplanned, so I have no idea what is going to happen next. You're welcome to make suggestions if you want! Reader interaction is definitely encouraged *g*
> 
> You can find more of my art [here](https://schweet-arts.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art) and/or follow along on Tumblr [here](https://schweet-arts.tumblr.com/tagged/merlinktober-2020).
> 
> Please do not repost my work elsewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #1: Stream / Fish. [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/631305960355430400/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-1-stream-by) ]

“I suppose you think this is funny,” Merlin said.

Arthur, who had in fact thought the whole situation hilarious until Merlin started stripping off his clothes, found himself at a loss for words. Merlin fishing for their supper with a makeshift spear had been an entertaining spectacle; Merlin slipping on a rock and falling into the stream had been downright funny. Merlin peeling off his wet shirt and underthings in front of the fire was enough to make his mouth go dry.

“I did warn you this was going to end badly,” he said at last, dragging his eyes away from the mesmerising interplay of muscle at the base of Merlin’s spine. His fingers curled into fists, the better to resist the urge to touch, and he resorted to doing what he did best: annoying Merlin. “It’s not my fault you didn’t listen.”

“And it’s not my fault that we’re stuck out here in the first place,” Merlin retorted, busily undoing his belt. Arthur turned away just a beat too slowly as Merlin pulled his trousers down over his arse. “If _someone_ hadn’t decided that he definitely knew a shortcut, we might've made it to the next village before dark.”


	2. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #2: Smoke / Wisp. [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/630929892183326720/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-2-smoke-by) ]

They had been on their way to Mercia when they’d gotten sidetracked—or rather, when their party had, as was becoming predictable, been ambushed by a group of bandits and become scattered.

Arthur had elected to push on anyway, since neither he nor Merlin was hurt, and they were closer now to Bayard’s kingdom than they were to Camelot. The treaty was too new to risk giving offence by showing up late—or, worse, by not showing up at all—and it would serve no one if Arthur balked at the first hurdle like a green recruit. It had made sense to keep going to the next village, just as it had made sense to take what he’d _thought_ would be the shorter route through the forest, but now that he was stuck in the woods alone with Merlin, Arthur was beginning to have second thoughts.  
  
They had been happening more and more often, of late—these unexpected moments when he'd found himself blindsided by Merlin’s smile, his ears, his…well. Everything. He had long ago given up trying to pretend that he wasn’t attracted to his manservant, but just because he knew _what_ he was feeling didn’t mean he knew why, or what the hell he was supposed to do about it. Merlin was…Merlin: clumsy, big-eared, far too insubordinate for his own good, and if all Arthur had wanted was to have him in his bed that would have happened ages ago, the first time Merlin had smirked up at him from beneath his eyelashes and called him a prat.   
  
What Arthur really wanted, however, was more complicated. There were times when he would cheerfully have wrung Merlin’s neck, usually when his manservant was being maddeningly obtuse or skulking around and keeping secrets. But there were other times when Arthur wanted to drag him into one of the castle alcoves and kiss him senseless, or to push him up against the wall in his chambers and run his hands through that luxurious hair. Recently, he had even begun to think in terms of something sweeter, more permanent, which was ridiculous considering Merlin had yet to do so much as look in his direction; but then, Arthur never had been the sort of man to do things by halves.  
  
All of which made being stuck out here in the wilderness alone with Merlin into its own special form of torture, especially when Merlin was naked, _especially_ when there was no one else around for miles and therefore no possibility of distraction to keep his thoughts in check.   
  
“Well, at least you caught something,” he said eventually, turning back when Merlin had finally changed into his dry clothes. If Merlin noticed the way Arthur’s gaze lingered on him for a moment too long, he didn’t comment, but he did at least look mollified when Arthur took the two small fish from him and began to gut them with his knife. “We won’t starve, and the village can’t be too far away. We’ll be back on the road to Mercia by mid-morning.”  
  
“Hmm,” Merlin said, apparently unconvinced. He built up the fire, striking the kindling alight on the first try as was his knack, then speared the fish on two short sticks and set them over the flames to cook, wisps of smoke curling upward into the darkening sky. “And when we get there?”  
  
When they got there, Arthur would send a message to his father to let him know about the bandits. He would greet King Bayard with all the courtesy that was due to the leader of his father’s allies, sit at his table and drink of his wine, and at the end of the day he’d have his manservant draw him a hot bath in front of the fire, where he would sit and scrub at his skin until he’d finally rid himself of all the sweat and dirt and stink of the road. Merlin would complain, as he always did, about the fact that Arthur got to laze about and relax while he had to do all the hard work, and Arthur would fantasise, as he always did, about grabbing the other man by his neckerchief and hauling Merlin into the bath beside him. He would dress for bed and climb under the covers, and when Merlin blew out the candles Arthur would once again refrain from asking his manservant to join him.  
  
“Feast, probably," was all he said, and Merlin laughed. 


	3. Two Halves of a Whole Idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #3: Coin / Bulky. [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
> I know today's pic may seem a little boring, but I actually had a lot of fun creating it. I looked up medieval coin pouches to use as a reference, and played around with some neat tricks in Photoshop to get the texture and add the crest. I'm really pleased with how it turned out!

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/631032350556454912/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-3-coin-by) ]

The following morning found the two of them on the outskirts of a small village, just as Arthur had predicted. The place was bustling despite the early hour, and Arthur was able to exchange some of their coin for a pair of freshly baked mince pies, the crusts still steaming in the cold morning air. They ate while walking through the crowded marketplace, sometimes purchasing items they needed, sometimes just stopping to browse through the colourful wares on display.

  
“This is nice,” Merlin said, licking the last of the filling from his thumb and nearly causing Arthur to trip over his own feet. "Don’t you think? A bit of fresh air, some good food…We should do this more often.”

  
“Yes, I particularly enjoyed the part where we were attacked by ruffians and robbed of our horses and supplies,” Arthur said, recovering himself. “It's my favourite way to start a journey.”

  
Merlin stuck his tongue out at him, and Arthur grinned. Merlin wasn’t wrong; it _was_ nice, just the two of them, strolling through the village without a care in the world. Well—almost without a care in the world, he amended, as Merlin stopped in his tracks with a sudden hiss and clutched at Arthur's arm.

  
“Arthur, look.” He pointed, and Arthur followed his gaze to where a young girl stood on the street corner, juggling a series of brightly-coloured objects that were being thrown to her by an assistant. As they drew closer, Arthur could see that the objects were in fact a collection of bulky little juggling balls, made from scraps of richly dyed cloth. It would have been impressive to watch at any time, but it was all the more so now considering she wasn’t even touching them.

  
“ _Magic_ ,” he breathed, his hand going instinctively to his sword.

  
He had known, of course, that Bayard did not share his father’s views on sorcery; it was one of the reasons they had remained at odds for so long. He had also known that magic was, nominally, legal in Bayard’s kingdom, yet it still came as a shock to see it being used so casually.

  
Beside him, Merlin was staring at the girl, his fingernails digging into Arthur’s forearm. There was a strange expression on his face, one that Arthur couldn't parse, and it made him uneasy. If he didn't know better, he'd almost have thought that Merlin looked _envious_ , but that couldn't be right. Merlin had never voiced any particular interest in sorcery before.

  
“Don’t worry, Merlin,” Arthur said, nudging him with an elbow to reclaim his attention. “I’ll protect you from the big, bad sorceress.”

  
Blinking, Merlin turned to look at him, then seemed to realise what he was doing. He dropped the prince’s arm with a scowl. “If anyone here needs protecting, it’s her,” he said, as though he hadn’t just been clinging to Arthur for dear life. “Aren’t you going to try and arrest her?”

  
“Of course not.” Frowning, Arthur tilted his head. There was something just a shade too brittle in Merlin’s voice for it to be funny. “She’s a _child_. Besides, we're already attracting unwanted attention," several of the nearest members of the crowd were staring at them—or rather, at his sword, "and I doubt Bayard would take too kindly to King Uther’s son arresting his citizens, especially when magic is perfectly legal in Mercia.” 

  
Merlin visibly deflated. “Right,” he muttered. “Of course.”

  
He stared at the girl for a moment longer, then turned on his heel and stomped off through the crowd, leaving Arthur to trail after him in bemusement. He flipped a gold piece into the young sorcerer’s basket as he passed, shaking his head. There were days when he thought he had finally begun to fathom Merlin out, and then there were moments like this, when he wondered whether he knew his ~~manservant~~ ~~best friend~~ companion at all. 


	4. (Don't Shoot the) Messenger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #4: Messenger. [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/631115044423335937/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-4-messenger-by) ]

Merlin’s strange mood lasted until they left the village, and he was twitchy as a scalded cat the entire time they were there. Arthur couldn’t tell what had unsettled him more: the fact that there were people in Mercia who used their magic openly, or the fact that Arthur had not yet drawn his sword and ordered them put to death. Merlin kept sneaking looks at him when he thought he wouldn’t be observed, and the expression on his face was one Arthur knew well; he was trying to work out a puzzle, one that he had all the clues to but couldn’t quite figure out the shape of. Yet.

  
Arthur let him wonder. For the time being, they had more important things to worry about, such as arriving at Bayard’s citadel before the anniversary celebrations began. He had been tempted to purchase some horses to expedite their journey, but given that they were still a fair distance from the castle, he wanted to save the money in case of an emergency. Aside from the food they’d bought at the market, they had only those few belongings that they had managed to rescue after the bandit attack—some clothing, Arthur’s sword, his coin purse. King Bayard would likely have sent them funds and an escort if he had requested it, but Arthur rather suspected that he would take entirely too much pleasure in having to ‘rescue’ his rival’s son from his own incompetence, to say nothing of what Uther would say if he found out. No—it was far better that they should make their way to the castle alone, even if that meant watching Merlin flinch and startle with every new magic-user they came across. 

  
There weren’t many of them, fortunately. Aside from the girl, Arthur noticed an old man selling magical fireworks that turned all sorts of unnatural colours, a cobbler who promised to make shoes that would mend themselves overnight, and a tailor whose goods shimmered with some sort of unearthly light. Merlin stared at each one of them with that same mixture of longing and suspicion, and Arthur towed him swiftly onwards, for once not stopping to tease him about his uncharacteristic silence. The sooner they got out of here, the better. 

  
After some negotiation, they hitched a ride on one of the farm carts that was travelling in the right direction, and at length Merlin’s normal good humour began to resurface. He was still darting looks in Arthur’s direction, but this time his expression seemed tinged with amusement.

  
“What is it?” Arthur demanded finally, when the village was at last out of sight over the horizon. “What’s so funny?”

  
“Oh, I don’t know.” Merlin’s amusement turned into a grin. “Here you are, the Crown Prince of Camelot, being forced to travel via hay wagon like one of us peasants. I was just thinking that you would make a terrible farmer.” 

  
“Shut up.” Arthur threw a bit of hay at him, although he was relieved that Merlin seemed to have cheered up again. “I would make an excellent farmer, and you know it.”

  
“Mm, you really wouldn’t.” Merlin shook his head, and began listing on his hands: “You hate getting up early, you'd get bored working in the fields, and I hate to even imagine you trying to milk a cow. You are destined to be many things, Arthur, but a humble farmer certainly isn’t one of them.” 

  
There was something weighty in the words as he said them, as there sometimes was when he spoke of Arthur's future, and Arthur felt the earnestness in his gaze though his expression remained unchanged. He flushed, leaning back against the side of the cart.

  
"And yet, here I am," he said, gesturing to their unconventional conveyance. "I think I'm doing a fair job of blending in so far."

  
"Hm," was all Merlin said. He looked as though he wanted to add something more, but wasn't sure whether he ought to, and Arthur could guess at the question that was on his mind. 

  
“Back there, in the village,” he started, then paused, conscious of their Mercian driver only a few feet away. “You were uncomfortable.” 

  
“And you weren’t.” He didn’t say it like it was a question. “Why?” 

  
Arthur sighed. “Children and old men,” he said. “Cobblers and tailors. Not particularly threatening, so far as sorcerers go.” 

  
And he should know, really, since he usually ended up being attacked by them on a semi-regular basis. Merlin made a face. “Still,” he said. “Any magic user is capable of being dangerous. Isn’t that what your father says?” 

  
Arthur shifted uneasily, but didn’t answer. It hadn’t been that long ago that he, Merlin and Morgana had helped a young Druid boy escape his father’s justice, and Merlin had been oddly conflicted then, too, as if he weren’t sure they were doing the right thing. It went completely against what Arthur knew of his personality—Merlin was compassionate to a fault, and though Arthur often teased him about his cowardice, he had never once hesitated to dive into danger if he thought it would help someone in need. When it came to magic, however, he seemed less sure of himself, despite not having been raised in Camelot, which meant that Arthur had never quite felt comfortable voicing his growing doubts about his father's laws in his manservant's presence.

  
“This isn’t my father’s kingdom,” he said finally, shrugging his shoulders, and fortunately Merlin seemed content with that.

  
The wagon’s pace was slow—it wasn’t much faster than walking, truth be told, though at least it was a bit more comfortable. Merlin leaned against him, chattering in his ear about nothing in particular, and for once Arthur let himself enjoy their proximity without worrying about whether or not it was appropriate. The road was virtually deserted; at one point a messenger on horseback overtook them, galloping past in a cloud of dust, but otherwise they were alone, anonymous in a foreign kingdom, with no one save his own conscience to remind him of his duty as Camelot’s future king. 


	5. So Thick, You Could Cut It With a Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #5: Knife / Blade. [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
> Sorry I'm late; today's pic took me 500 years to finish and I nearly gave up a dozen times. It didn't turn out as well as I would like, but I'm still proud that I kept going, lol. I'll try to catch up tomorrow, but no promises!

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/631299667665272832/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-5-knife-by) ]

By the time they reached the next village, it was nearly dark. Arthur paid the farmer what they owed him—as well as a substantial tip, for the man had shared both stories and sustenance with them along the way—and then asked for directions to the nearest inn.

  
“There’s only the one,” the farmer said, grinning. He pointed towards the centre of the village. “You can’t miss it. Head towards the square and look for the sign.” 

  
The inn was a ramshackle building barely worthy of the name, the sign outside it chipped and faded to the point of being unrecognisable. Arthur squinted at it in the gathering dark, struggling to make out the shape, then decided he was better off not knowing.

  
“We’ll spend the night here,” he said, smothering a yawn. “Then get an early start in the morning. With luck, we’ll still be able to reach the citadel with time to spare.”

  
It was an extravagance, probably, and one that they could ill afford at the rate they were going, but Arthur was sore and aching from the jolting of the cart and even Merlin was beginning to flag a little. Whatever he might claim about being one of the common folk, Arthur wasn’t the only one who had grown used to living in a castle, with all of the attendant luxuries that it entailed. They would both of them benefit from a better night’s sleep than an evening in the fields would give them, and if Merlin had any thoughts about the wisdom of Arthur’s decision, he wisely kept them to himself.

  
The innkeeper squinted suspiciously when Arthur asked her for her best room, eyeing his dusty travelling clothes and lack of luggage and no doubt making some mental calculations about how much he could pay. He saw her glance at Merlin, who smiled innocently back, then shake her head.

  
“Aye, we have a room available.” She named a price that, had Arthur not been a prince (albeit one who was temporarily in reduced circumstances), he might have considered exorbitant. Merlin made a choking sound behind him and tugged at his arm, but Arthur shrugged him off.

  
“Very well,” he said. He stared the landlady directly in the eye and set their bag of gold coins down on the counter, where it made a satisfying thunk. “We’ll take it.” 

  
“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Merlin said, as the two of them traipsed up the back stairway to their room, key in one hand and cheap tallow candle in the other. “I could have bargained her down by a few coins, at least.” 

  
“I know.” Arthur had seen Merlin’s haggling skills in action before. “But I’m tired. And she was being rude.” 

  
Merlin shook his head, but Arthur could tell he was amused by the exchange. “So much for blending in.”

  
Arthur did not reply. Bruises from the day before were finally making themselves felt, exacerbated by the wagon ride, and right now all he wanted was a long, hot soak and a comfortable bed. He toyed with the idea of sending one of the inn servants to fetch him a bath, and perhaps some supper, then reconsidered it as an unnecessary expense. They had eaten well enough on the road, and an establishment such as this would likely only have a communal tub available, if that. A proper bath would have to wait until they reached the castle.

  
He followed Merlin down a narrow corridor until they found the appropriate door, then waited while his manservant unlocked it. The landlady’s “best room” didn’t amount to much; a small space tucked under a garret, dust-free but dingy, with a window that looked out into a blank square of forest and little else. It would have been serviceable enough for their needs, all things considered, save for one fact which seemed to strike them both at the same moment: there was only one bed.

  
“It’ll be fine,” Merlin said, after a beat of embarrassed silence. “I’ll just sleep on the floor.” 

  
“Don’t be stupid,” Arthur said. The floor was bare boards and none too clean, and Arthur could not imagine it would be at all comfortable to sleep on. “You can take the bed; _I’ll_ sleep on the floor.”

  
Merlin shot him a look. “You’re tired, you said so yourself. You take the bed. I’m used to it.” 

  
“Not anymore, you’re not,” Arthur pointed out, though he could tell from the stubborn set to Merlin’s jaw that he had already made up his mind to be difficult. He turned his attention to the bed again. Like the room, it wasn’t particularly prepossessing, and from what he could make out in the fading light the coverlet was moth-eaten and full of holes. The mattress seemed solid enough, however, and the linens were clean. He summoned up his courage. “We could share it?”

  
Merlin, who had been opening his mouth to argue some more, shut it again with a snap. “What did you say?”

  
“I _said_ , we could share,” Arthur repeated, aware of the flush rising in his cheeks. He doggedly avoided Merlin’s eyes. “It would be stupid for one of us to sleep on the floor when the bed is big enough for two.”

  
It was purely a practical suggestion, made with no ulterior motive other than the desire not to have to listen to Merlin’s complaining the following day, but Merlin’s hesitation indicated that he wasn’t entirely convinced. Were it anyone else, Arthur might have assumed they were mentally evaluating the propriety of sleeping in the same bed as the prince, or perhaps struck speechless at the thought of being allowed so close to his royal person. Merlin, however, who had made free with said royal person since the first day he’d set foot in Camelot, could have no such excuses, and his silence had now lasted long enough that it was bordering on insulting.

  
“Fine, you take the floor then,” Arthur was about to say, just to put an end to the humiliation, when Merlin finally answered him.

  
“All right,” he said, taking Arthur by surprise. “If you’re sure. I suppose I can put up with your snoring for one night.” 

  
“Very funny.” 

  
His stomach curdling with nerves, Arthur crossed the room and began to undress before Merlin could think better of it, pointedly ignoring his manservant still dithering in the doorway. Finally, Merlin joined him, locking the door and setting both key and candle down on the bedside table before beginning to unlace his boots. Arthur resisted the temptation to watch him, but nevertheless the awareness of their proximity was there, prickling like pins and needles beneath his skin. Suddenly, sharing the bed—which really was far too small for two grown men, now that he thought about it—seemed like the worst idea he’d ever had.

  
“I sleep on the left,” he said, mostly for something to say, and when Merlin made a faint sound of acknowledgement he got in, pulling the covers primly up to his chest. The mattress sagged discouragingly beneath his weight, but he ignored it and rolled over, the better to avoid the sight of Merlin in his undershirt now crawling beneath the blankets opposite him. Merlin copied his position, and although they were not—quite—touching, Arthur could feel the heat of him as he settled into the space at his back, blowing out the candle.

  
“Good night, Arthur,” he said, after a moment. 

  
“Good night.” 

  
This was fine, Arthur told himself, closing his eyes and willing himself to fall asleep. Totally, absolutely fine. This was going to be no problem at all. 

+

Arthur did not sleep well. While he would have liked to have put it down to the bed (lumpy and scratchy) or the blankets (threadbare and scratchy), the truth of it was that having Merlin so close made it impossible for him to relax. The mattress was narrow enough that they had to crowd together to keep from falling off, and at some point during the night Merlin shifted so that his head was now pillowed against the back of Arthur’s neck, his soft breaths warm against Arthur’s skin. It was torture of the best kind, and Arthur might not have minded the position if it weren’t for the fact that a) Merlin would have been horrified if he knew and b) he was very, uncomfortably, _painfully_ bloody hard. 

  
He had just made up his mind that he would have to get out of bed and do something about it, at least if he wanted to get any sleep that night, when a faint noise in the corridor outside made him pause. The hair on the nape of his neck shivered to attention, and he held his breath, arousal forgotten as he strained his ears in the ensuing silence. A few minutes later, the sound came again, a quiet but very definite _snick_ , followed by the creak of a poorly oiled hinge. 

  
Someone had just unlocked their door. Someone had unlocked their door and opened it, and was even now stealing into their room, so quietly that Arthur almost couldn’t make out their footsteps.

  
Whoever it was, they were obviously well trained, and probably quite experienced at breaking into rooms and taking whatever they wanted. But Arthur had also trained for moments like these, and he had no intention of losing the rest of their coin on top of everything else.

  
Keeping his breathing even so as not to let on that he was awake, he let his arm dangle off the bed in what he hoped was a casual manner. His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword, stowed under there for safekeeping, and he closed his hand around it, shifting a little so that he would be able to draw it at a moment's notice if it proved necessary.

  
Even with all of his attention focused on the thief, he almost missed the moment that the other sprang; only the barest whistle of air alerted him to the movement, and he rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being struck. He hit the floor with a jarring thud, winded as much by the shock as by the impact, and he heard his manservant exclaim in surprise as he was woken by the sudden noise. This was no thief; this was an assassin, armed and intending to kill. Adrenaline pounded through Arthur’s veins, and he immediately shifted into battle mode, lunging to his feet and drawing his sword from its sheath in one smooth motion. He had no time to stop and explain, or even to get Merlin to safety; the best he could do was keep the intruder occupied and hope that Merlin had enough sense to get the hell out of the way.

  
He swung. The man met the blow with his own weapon—not a sword but a shorter blade, though long enough to keep Arthur’s sword from striking home. Arthur tried to drive him back, but was hampered by the close quarters, and the next few minutes were a blur of confusion as he, the intruder, and Merlin all slipped and scrambled not to trip over one another while striving to obtain the upper hand. 

  
At some point, Arthur struck the man; he felt steel meet flesh, heard the grunt of impact. The next moment, he was flung back against the opposite wall, his head striking the wood with such force that it left him momentarily stunned. Staggering to his feet, he was raising his sword again defensively when the intruder bellowed,

  
“ _Enough._ ”

  
The candle flared to life. Arthur froze in place, blinking, knowing what it meant, and in the golden light he finally got a good look at the intruder. As expected, this man was no common thief, but a stranger dressed in flowing robes, broader than Arthur at the shoulders and with a thin scar bisecting one side of his mouth. His eyes were shadowed by the hood that was drawn up over his head, concealing all but the lower half of his face—

  
—and he was holding a knife to Merlin’s throat. 


	6. Arthur Smells A Rat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #6: Rat / Rodent. [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/631380271950970880/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-6-rat-by) ]

For what felt like a lifetime, everything was still. Arthur swayed a little where he stood, breathing hard, his sword still clutched in his hand, but his eyes were fixed on the knife where it pressed into Merlin’s neck. A bright bead of blood welled from the wound, gleaming starkly against his pale skin, and the intruder shifted his weight, clearly positioning his hand to strike. 

  
“Wait,” Arthur said, and even he was startled by how raw his voice sounded. “Stop—it’s me you want.”

  
The hooded figure didn’t move. “Put down the sword.” 

  
“Don’t do it,” Merlin said immediately, apparently heedless of the weapon now digging into his flesh. “Arthur, don’t—”

  
Another motion of the knife made him fall silent, and Arthur was stepping forward before he realised what he was doing, one hand outstretched as if he could simply yank Merlin out of harm’s way. The intruder tightened his grip, and Merlin gasped.

  
“Stay where you are.” 

  
Arthur stopped. Slowly, without taking his eyes from Merlin’s face, he lowered his sword and laid it on the bed, raising his hands up in surrender. Merlin’s lips were pressed together, and he looked, of all things, furious—as if he couldn’t believe Arthur would give up his only weapon without a fight. Arthur wanted to tell him that it would be fine, that he could fight as well without a sword as with it, but he didn’t dare open his mouth. He tried to convey confidence and reassurance with his eyes, but that just made Merlin scowl harder. 

  
“Good. Now take a step back.”

  
Arthur did as he was told, until he found himself standing flush against the rear wall of the little room, the bed between him and Merlin and the intruder between him and the door. No way out.

  
“Now what?” he asked.

  
The stranger tilted his head, as though listening, so Arthur listened, too. The walls of the inn couldn’t have been particularly thick, but perhaps its patrons were used to night-time disturbances of this sort, because no one seemed to have been alerted by the noise. There would be no rescue, then; not that he’d been expecting one. It was up to him to get him out of this mess the best he could.

  
He looked at Merlin again. His manservant wasn’t struggling any longer—to do so would have been to court certain death—but when Arthur caught his eye he glanced deliberately downwards, directing Arthur’s gaze to where he had one hand curled in the fabric of his nightshirt. Three fingers were visible, splayed outwards, and as Arthur watched, the first of them curled inwards.

  
Three. Two. One…

  
They moved in tandem. As Arthur lunged towards his sword once again, Merlin twisted in the attacker’s hold, raising one hand to grab his wrist and force the knife away from his throat. It was a move that Arthur had taught him once in one of their training sessions, one that Merlin had sworn he would never master, and it took the would-be assassin completely by surprise, allowing Merlin to duck under his arm and turn the tables on him, if only for a moment. It wouldn’t be enough, of course; the man was three times Merlin’s size and he had magic to boot, but that split-second advantage was at least sufficient to get Merlin out of danger, and now Arthur had his sword.

  
“Who are you?” he demanded, advancing on their assailant. “Who do you work for?”

  
The man spat at Arthur’s feet, and with an almighty shrug shoved Merlin back into the wall and lunged for the prince. Arthur dodged, jumping past him and over the bed to escape, bringing up his sword just in time to deflect a killing blow from the knife. 

  
He wasn’t quite sure what happened next. He had caught Merlin by the collar and was propelling him in the direction of the door when the assassin raised his free hand and began to speak, intoning something in a language Arthur didn’t understand. He flung up his sword uselessly, knowing what must be coming next; felt Merlin’s hand digging painfully into his bicep, Merlin’s voice shouting something incomprehensible in his ear. A moment later, there was a silent explosion, a great concussive wave that sent them both sprawling, the room’s single window shattering in an instant, and then—nothing.

  
When he was certain it was over, Arthur sat up, scouring the room for the assassin, but the man was nowhere to be seen. In his place, looking as confused as any rodent might be expected to look under such circumstances, there was a rat: a common, ordinary-looking rat with grey fur and a long, dark tail. Arthur stared. The rat stared back, twitching its whiskers—and then, with an outraged squeak, it turned tail and vanished out of the open window, leaving nothing but a ringing silence in its wake.


	7. A Royal Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #7: Royalty / Fancy. [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
> Me @ me: I can have a little colour. As a treat.
> 
> Also, woohoo! I've successfully completed a whole week's worth of Merlinktober pics \o/ Granted, I'm a couple of days behind, but I swear I'm going to catch up eventually...

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/631460531875807232/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-7-royalty-by) ]

Merlin was the first one on his feet. “Arthur? Are you hurt?”

  
“I’m fine,” Arthur said absently, getting up likewise and brushing himself off. He stared at the spot where the assassin had disappeared. “You saw that, right? He just…turned into a rat and ran away?” 

  
“Yes, I saw.” Merlin scrubbed a hand over his face. “Arthur, this isn’t good. This is very, very not good. That man just tried to kill you.” 

  
“And you,” Arthur said, since apparently this needed to be pointed out. He turned and surveyed his manservant critically. “He came pretty close to succeeding, actually. Are you all right?” 

  
Merlin put a hand to his throat, wiping away the blood that had trickled down under his collar, but fortunately the wound didn’t appear to be too deep. “I’ll live,” he said, shrugging. “Right now, I’m more concerned about getting out of here before he comes back.”

  
“Good idea.” 

  
Arthur glanced around the trashed room. The mattress had been torn open in the fight, no doubt by one or the other of their blades, and the pillows were strewn on the floor in a heap of feathers, the window shattered. Picking his way through the debris, Arthur retrieved their coin purse and his boots, but when he made to put on his tunic and trousers, Merlin stopped him.

  
“Wear these instead,” he said, holding out a tunic and cloak that Arthur recognised as his spare set of travelling clothes. “We can do something about your hair and face later, but in those fancy things, anyone will be able to guess who you are the second they set eyes on you.” 

  
Arthur frowned and looked down at his own clothes, confused. They were among the plainest things he owned, sturdily made and comfortable. They were also torn, stained, and covered in dust; hardly the sort of clothes fit for royalty. 

  
“It’s the fabric,” Merlin explained, when he realised Arthur didn’t understand. “And the dyes. Most ordinary peasants don’t wear those colours.” 

  
The corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile, and Arthur’s cheeks warmed as he realised Merlin’s teasing the day before had been more accurate than he’d realised. No wonder the landlady had charged them so much; she must have seen him coming a mile away.

  
“All right, fine,” he muttered, accepting the suggestion. Merlin turned his back as Arthur got dressed, pulling on his own things at the same time, and it was a mark of how shaken Arthur felt that he wasn’t even tempted to sneak a look over his shoulder. 

  
They cleaned up as best they could, and Arthur decided not to leave an additional coin or two to pay for the things that couldn’t be fixed, reasoning that they had already paid quite enough to cover the damages. Then there was little else to do but gather up the rest of their things and make their escape, tiptoeing down the deserted staircase and out into the night. 


	8. Once Bitten, Twice Shy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #8: Bite / Teeth [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/631570596496539648/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-8-bite-by) ]

It was now a matter of urgency that they should reach the citadel as soon as possible. Quite apart from maintaining the alliance with Bayard, they couldn’t fight off a sorcerer alone, and it could only be a matter of time before the man returned to try again—perhaps this time with reinforcements. 

  
Accordingly, Arthur kept up a punishing pace, ignoring his own exhaustion in favour of putting as many miles between them and the assassin as he could manage. He and Merlin were silent as they walked, both of them keeping their heads down in order to focus on the rough terrain. Arthur’s whole body ached, and his eyelids felt as if they had been filled with sand, but he was determined not to rest until he knew they would be safe. The image of Merlin in the assassin’s grasp, bleeding and with a knife to his throat, still haunted him whenever he was tempted to close his eyes.

  
At last, as the faint grey light of dawn began to filter through the trees, Arthur called a halt. Merlin dropped onto a nearby log without a word, digging out his waterskin and gulping from it greedily while Arthur leaned against a tree to catch his breath. It was impossible not to watch him; even exhausted, filthy, and fleeing for his life, Merlin was beautiful.

  
“I’ve been thinking,” Arthur said, and Merlin froze. He lowered the waterskin slowly, looking at Arthur as though he half expected him to pull out a knife. “There’s a lot about this that doesn’t make sense.” 

  
“How do you mean?” 

  
“Well, for one thing,” Arthur said, “how did the assassin know where we were? I know we weren’t exactly keeping a low profile, but I find it highly unlikely he was just hanging about that village on the off chance. He must have been there intentionally.” 

  
Merlin stared at him. “The messenger we saw on the road,” he said, after a moment. “But that would mean—”

  
“Yes,” Arthur said, and dropped onto the log beside him. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’m starting to think those bandits who attacked us weren’t actually bandits at all.” 

  
They had been well armed for a group of brigands, and though there had been only a few of them, they had broken through the ranks of his men with relative ease, cutting him and Merlin off from the rest and driving them away from the road. At the time, he had thought it accidental, due either to some failed tactic or the mischance of battle, but now he had to wonder whether it had been intentional. The entire party was scattered after that, forcing every man to fend for himself, and if it hadn't been for some fortuitously rotten branches, he might easily have been cut down with no one the wiser. 

  
He wondered what had happened to the rest of his escort. He had asked after them in the marketplace, of course, but when no one claimed to have seen any men in Camelot red riding through the village he had assumed they’d headed in a different direction, perhaps even back to Camelot itself. In light of what he now knew, however, their disappearance suddenly took on a much more sinister light.

  
“There’s also the question of why someone would go to such lengths to try to kill me,” he said, pulling his thoughts back to the topic at hand, “and whether or not King Bayard is involved.” 

  
“The timing is suspicious,” Merlin agreed. He picked up a stick and began to draw patterns in the dirt, obviously thinking hard. “But I’m not sure I understand what his motive would be.” 

  
“Neither do I.” Arthur blew out his breath. “It doesn’t make sense. Why go to all this trouble to celebrate the treaty, only to try and kill me before I arrive?”

  
“To be fair, most people who meet you probably want to kill you,” Merlin said. He grinned when Arthur shoved him. “Obviously, I can’t imagine why.”

  
“Shut up.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Even if he _did_ want me dead, he has to know what my father’s reaction would be. Why risk another war for no good reason?” 

  
Merlin only hummed in response. Arthur glanced sideways at him, his gaze drawn inexorably to the cut at Merlin’s throat; it had already scabbed over and would probably be gone in a few days, but even so the sight of it made his blood run cold. He had come so, so close to losing Merlin today.

  
“And that’s another thing,” he said, reaching over to press a gentle finger against the wound. “That assassin had us dead to rights back there. He had magic and all I had was a sword—he could have killed us both, but he didn’t. Why?” 

  
Merlin’s stick snapped, and he threw it away into the bushes. “Maybe his spell backfired,” he suggested, shifitng out of Arthur's reach. Arthur dropped his hand. “Or—I don’t know. Something we did must have warded him off somehow.” 

  
“But how?” Arthur pressed. Merlin shrugged one shoulder, his gaze sliding away when Arthur tried to meet his eyes. 

  
“How do I know? I’m not an expert.” He dusted off his knees, as if brushing away the question, then stood and squinted up into the lightening sky. “You can rest for a bit, if you want. I’ll keep watch.” 

  
Arthur wanted to argue; more than that, he wanted to push Merlin until he gave him a proper answer, until he spilled whatever secrets he was hiding behind the guileless blue eyes and deceptively innocent smile. But he already knew it would be no use. Merlin might appear to be one of those people who would talk about anything and everything, but when it came to matters of substance he could be surprisingly tight-lipped.

  
“Make sure you wake me before noon,” he said at last, taking off his borrowed cloak and bunching it up to use as a pillow. Merlin nodded, and Arthur made himself comfortable on a patch of grass, keeping his sword within easy reach. The cloak smelled faintly of Merlin, a familiar scent of fresh herbs and soft leather. He was asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes.

+

It was well after midday when Arthur woke up, and even through the canopy of trees he could tell that the daylight was beginning to fade. For a moment, he felt disoriented, unable to remember where he was or how he had got there; then he remembered and sat up, immediately searching the clearing for Merlin.

  
His manservant was sitting a few feet away, roasting what looked like a pair of skinned rabbits on a makeshift spit. The smell must have been what had woken Arthur—his stomach was growling, reminding him that he’d had precious little to eat since the night before, and he could feel his mouth watering as he inhaled the enticing aroma of roasting meat.

  
“I distinctly remember telling you to wake me before noon,” he said, brushing the grass out of his hair. Merlin didn’t even have the grace to look abashed.

  
“You needed the rest,” he said bluntly. He retrieved the spit from the fire and held it out to Arthur, who took one of the rabbits from it gingerly. “And so did I. We're safe enough out here, and you were dead on your feet.” 

  
It hadn't exactly been _Arthur_ 's fault that he hadn't slept well—but if he said as much, Merlin might want to know what had kept him awake, so he decided discretion was probably the better part of valour. Merlin snuffed out the fire, and the two of them talked companionably while they ate, and Arthur had to admit that he felt better after having had a proper sleep and some hot food. 

  
“All right,” he said at length, when the last of the bones had been thoroughly picked over and discarded. “I think we can safely conclude that King Bayard isn’t behind this, which means that heading towards the citadel is still our best bet. Bayard can get word to my father, and he can send a contingent to escort us home once the celebrations are over. We should probably keep off the king’s road, though,” Arthur added, gesturing back the way they’d come. “And keep out of sight as much as we can, so as not to draw undue attention. We—”

  
But Merlin no longer seemed to be listening to him. He was looking at something over Arthur’s shoulder, his body tense and his face gone curiously blank in a way that sent a sudden frisson of unease down Arthur’s spine. He stopped talking, wondering whether he ought to turn around, but without looking at him Merlin said softly, “Arthur, don’t move.” 

  
Arthur didn’t move. “What is it?” he said, holding himself very, very still. His sword was where he had left it, no more than six feet away, but there was no way for him to reach it without moving. His fingers twitched at his sides. “Well?”

  
“There are—” Merlin’s voice faltered, and he swallowed, giving a helpless gesture that might have meant anything. “ _Teeth_.” 

  
That was not reassuring. 

  
Very slowly, Arthur shifted, turning his head a little so that he could look over his shoulder. At first, he couldn’t see anything; then, something moved in the trees, and what he had taken for merely another, darker shadow resolved abruptly into something else.

  
There were, indeed, teeth, as Merlin had so eloquently informed him; teeth that were attached to a jaw that looked as if it could bite a man in half without even trying. Beyond, Arthur saw a lean, muscular body and shaggy fur, so close that he could practically smell the rotting meat on its breath as the creature opened its mouth in a snarl. 

  
It might have been an ordinary wolf, in spite of its size, if it weren’t for the fact that its eyes were glowing. 


	9. At Full Tilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #9: Joust / Throw [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/631671853667221504/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-9-joust-by) ]

“This,” Arthur said, “is what happens when you disobey orders and allow me to sleep in.” 

  
Merlin, who still hadn’t moved a muscle, shot him a dirty look, and Arthur felt a tiny bit of the tension lift from his shoulders. They might have jumped straight out of the proverbial frying pan and into the fire, but it couldn’t be all that bad if Merlin was still giving him dirty looks. 

  
“Just for that, sire, I’m tempted to let it eat you.” 

  
“Good thing no one asked you, then,” Arthur said, and considered their options. 

  
Were this an ordinary wolf, the strategy would be clear enough: get up, look threatening, perhaps try to make some noise. Most wolves were wary of humans and wouldn’t attack one without good cause, particularly not if they seemed likely to fight back.

  
This, however, was not an ordinary wolf, and the look in those feral eyes said it wasn’t particularly deterred by the prospect of bloodshed. Assuming it was sent by the assassin—or perhaps even _was_ the assassin—then attempting to scare it off wouldn’t work. It was impossible for Arthur to reach his sword from here, and he would probably draw the wolf’s attention if he tried, but he _could_ reach what remained of the spit from the fire. The branches Merlin had selected were slender but sturdy, and had been whittled to sharp points for the purpose; they probably wouldn’t hold out for long, but if push came to shove perhaps he could use one as a spear. 

  
“I’m going to lean down for a moment,” he said finally, still in a calm, conversational tone. “Don’t panic. Just tell me if it gets any closer.”

  
“Arthur…”

  
Merlin sounded worried, but Arthur didn’t give him time to argue. Keeping his movements slow and unhurried, he reached down and took hold of the pair of stakes that lay closest to him, working them carefully out of the ground as he got to his feet. He was only just in time. He heard Merlin’s shout of warning the instant before there was a crashing in the underbrush, and when he turned the wolf was there, its great mouth open wide as it charged towards him.

  
Arthur flung up his makeshift weapons and stood his ground, unconsciously sliding into the fighting stance that had been drilled into him since childhood. It was a bit like jousting, if his opponent had been the only one with a horse, but he wasn’t about to be run down if he could help it. He waited until the wolf was close—too close for it to easily change direction—and then stepped aside, lashing out with both stakes as hard as he could.

  
The wolf caught his first swing in its jaws, biting down on the wood with a splintering noise that made Arthur flinch. The second blow caught it directly on the nose, however, making it yelp in pain, and instead of barrelling into him it veered to one side and circled back, warier now that it knew what he was capable of. Arthur smiled grimly as he twirled the unbroken stake between his hands, throwing the other one aside. He might have only a couple of tree branches to defend himself with, but he wasn’t about to go down without a fight. 

  
Neither was Merlin, apparently. His manservant had taken advantage of the wolf’s distraction to cross the clearing, and Arthur felt rather than heard it as Merlin stepped up behind him, the steady warmth of him a familiar weight at his back.

  
“Swap you,” he whispered, pressing the hilt of Arthur’s sword into his free hand. “I think you’ll have better luck with this than I will.” 

  
Arthur took it from him with a wordless nod of thanks, offering the rabbit spit in exchange, and the two of them stood back to back in the darkening woods, waiting for the wolf to strike again. 


	10. Merlin to the Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #10: Rescue / Hope [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
>  **Content note:** Brief mention of animal injury and death in this chapter.
> 
> Funny story about today's entry. It took me 500 years to write because originally I wanted the two of them to end up somewhere slightly different (largely because I ~~cheated~~ was very enterprising and actually finished today's drawing ahead of time). But the characters flatly refused to do what I wanted, so I grudgingly decided to let them be and do another sketch that was better suited to the storyline. Just a quick drawing, I said. Something nice and easy, I said. I can get it done and then go to bed early, I said.
> 
> Aha. Ahahahahahahahaha.

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/631768228454154240/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-10-rescue-by) ]

It went for Merlin first.

  
Arthur barely had time to turn his head before it charged, barrelling into Merlin at full speed and slamming him into Arthur in turn. Arthur fell, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs, but he was up and on his feet again in a moment, lashing out blindly with his sword to keep the wolf at bay. 

  
Merlin was not so lucky. Lacking the benefit of Arthur’s muscle memory, he was slower in getting to his feet, which gave the animal time to gather itself and strike. Its jaws closed around his lower leg and Merlin screamed, a high, terrifying sound that made the hair stand up all over Arthur’s body.

  
What he did next was instinct more than sense; he dropped his sword and lunged for the creature with his bare hands, aiming with clawed fingers at the golden eyes still glowing in the dark. He missed, but in pulling its head away the wolf was forced to let Merlin go, buying the two of them a few precious seconds to regroup as it retreated.

  
There was no telling how bad Merlin’s injury was. Arthur himself was bruised, winded, hampered by the fading light and the dense underbrush. At least he hadn’t lost sight of his sword, but he knew the moment he stooped to pick it up the wolf would be on him again, and this time there would be no escaping it.

  
He reached for it anyway. The wolf coiled itself to spring, growling low in its throat, and Arthur’s fingers found the hilt just as it launched itself into the air, too late for him to swing—

  
—and then the wolf was gone, colliding viciously with a tree trunk several feet away, and suddenly it was Merlin who was panting on the ground in front of him, staring up at Arthur with naked fear in his eyes. 

  
Eyes that, even now, were limned with gold.

+

“You’re a sorcerer,” Arthur said stupidly. It was strange—he knew he ought to be shocked, and yet somehow the information was not wholly new to him. He had been pushing aside Merlin’s many strangenesses and secrets for almost as long as they’d known each other, perhaps because somewhere in his subconscious he had known what the answer must be. Now that he was confronted with the truth, he found that surprise had already given way to comprehension. 

  
“Arthur,” Merlin said, pleading. “I can explain.” 

  
But what was there to explain? Merlin was a sorcerer. He had come to Arthur’s rescue just now, so he _probably_ wasn’t evil, but he clearly hadn’t wanted to let Arthur in on the secret—and for good reason. Arthur was a prince, his father’s son, and his father executed sorcerers without stopping to ask questions. He certainly didn’t pause to think about things like what it felt like to have said sorcerer curled up beside him in the night, or what it might be like to kiss him. 

  
Arthur felt sick. All the things he had felt for Merlin, _still_ felt for Merlin seemed jammed together in his throat, making it hard to breathe. Across from them, the great wolf snarled as it tried to get to its feet, and that at least was something Arthur knew how to deal with.

  
“Stay here,” he said curtly—not that Merlin was in any shape to be going anywhere—and crossed the clearing to where the—wolf? assassin?—lay growling quietly. It bared its teeth at him as he approached, but whatever Merlin had done to it had obviously damaged its spine irreparably, because it didn’t do more than snap its teeth and glare when Arthur swung back his sword.

  
Once the creature had been dispatched, Arthur cleaned his blade on the grass and sheathed it, then walked back over to Merlin. His manservant was crying, although he didn’t seem to be aware of it, his face streaked with snot and tears. Arthur knelt beside him, avoiding Merlin’s gaze as he inspected his wounded leg. 

  
“I’m going to need to bandage that,” he said, resting a tentative hand on Merlin’s knee. His manservant flinched so violently that Arthur withdrew at once, holding his hands up where Merlin could see them. “Or you could do it yourself,” he amended, swallowing hard. “Either way, you won’t be able to walk on it for a while.” 

  
Merlin only nodded, staring down at his hands. His shoulders were shaking. Arthur knew he probably ought to comfort him, to say something reassuring so that Merlin knew Arthur wasn’t going to—to hurt him, or anything like that. But somehow he couldn’t find the right words. It hurt, stupidly and selfishly, that Merlin hadn’t told him—they had shared so much together, been so much to each other, that Arthur had hoped, had _believed_ …

  
But clearly he had been wrong.

  
Sighing, he pushed himself back to his feet. The shadows had crept in around them, and a light drizzle of rain was beginning to fall, pattering down on the leaves above their heads. They would need to find shelter for the night, and soon; but first he needed to help tend to Merlin’s leg, and figure out what he was supposed to do with this latest revelation. He would just have to hope that no more assassins came after them while he did.


	11. Hocus Pocus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #11: Potion / Disgusting [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/631843267702554624/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-11-potion-by) ]

It was a restless night for both of them. Merlin was in too much pain to sleep, even after his wound had been cleaned and bound with strips torn from Arthur’s rejected travelling tunic, and Arthur lay listening to him toss and turn with a stone of guilt lodged inside this chest, feeling each uneven breath and grunt of pain like the teeth of phantom wolves gnawing on his flesh. 

  
It was stupid to feel guilty, probably. Merlin made his own choices, and it wasn’t Arthur’s fault he'd opted to keep his secret even at the risk of his own life, but Arthur couldn’t help feeling that neither of them would have been in this predicament in the first place if Merlin had been able to use his magic openly. And _that_ thought made him feel wretchedly disloyal, which led to more guilt, and round and round his thoughts circled until at last he dropped into an uneasy doze.

  
They rose at sun-up, and since there seemed little point attempting to get more sleep, they packed up their few belongings and broke camp shortly afterwards. They had taken shelter under a fallen oak the night before, but their clothes were still damp from the rain, and though the drizzle had now stopped the forest around them was saturated with it, an endless _drip-drip-drip_ that played in counterpoint to their crunching footsteps.

  
It was slow going. Merlin could put no weight on his injured leg and so was forced to use Arthur’s shoulder as a crutch, which he did in grim-faced silence. Arthur did not attempt to make conversation either, but he couldn’t help sneaking glances at him as they walked, noting with concern the faint sheen of fever sweat that stood out on his forehead, the way his breath rasped audibly in his throat.

  
By noon, even Merlin had to admit that he could go no further.

  
“Let me rest here a minute while you go on ahead,” he said, avoiding Arthur’s eyes. “I’ll be fine. The nearest town can’t be that far away.” 

  
Arthur, whose stomach clenched unpleasantly at the thought of leaving Merlin behind, did not immediately reply. Common sense dictated that he should at least try to find help, for both their sakes; they were low on food as it was, and he couldn’t hunt very well with a wounded companion to care for. A quick trip into the nearest village for some provisions would allow them to rest for a few days while Merlin recovered, and if there was a healer nearby, Arthur might even be able to persuade them to see to Merlin’s leg. 

  
The trouble was, now that they had ventured so far from their intended path, he was no longer certain just how far it was to the nearest village. It could be a few miles—or it could be a few days. And there was no way he was going to leave Merlin alone in the woods overnight.

  
“I’ll scout around and see what I can find,” he decided at last. “If there’s a stream close by, we can refill our water-skins from that, and maybe try to do some fishing. If not, well. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  
He left Merlin leaning against a tree, hopefully safe from prying eyes, and set off again downhill, watching for animal tracks that might lead him to running water. Now that he was on his own, the silence seemed suddenly a great deal more lonely, and he did his best to distract himself by focusing on the positives. At least he and Merlin were still alive, and the assassin—if that was indeed who the wolf had been—was not. He didn't have to worry about being pounced on or stabbed from behind, at least for the time being, which was fortunate considering he was quite exhausted.

  
The weather began to clear towards mid-afternoon, and Arthur soon became absorbed in his task, so much so that he almost missed them at first: a series of strange symbols hewn into the trunk of one of the trees, just above eye-level. When he realised what he had seen, he stopped and retraced his steps, then stood back to examine the carving in more detail. 

  
He had seen something like it before—not carved into a tree trunk, but welded into the hilt of a sword, and perhaps once inked into someone’s skin. It was a rune marking, although exactly what it meant he couldn’t say. Still, the very fact of its presence was encouraging; where there was writing, there were people, and where there were people there was food and perhaps some kind of market where it could be purchased.

  
He kept walking in the same direction, keeping his eyes peeled, and soon he came across another marking, and then another and another, and finally the traces of a hunting track that led him deeper into the woods. He spared a brief moment to think of Merlin—he had promised that he’d be back before sundown—but he could always turn around if the path didn’t lead anywhere interesting, and by this point he had invested too much time and curiosity to give up. 

  
What he found at the end of the trail was not what he had expected. Instead of a Druid settlement or village, there was only a single house, overgrown with ivy to the point where it almost seemed to blend into the forest. At first, Arthur was disappointed—it looked like an old ruin left to rot. But then he saw the curl of smoke coming from the chimney, and to his relief he realised he was mistaken. Someone did live here, and with any luck, it would turn out to be someone who was interested in helping a pair of needy travellers in exchange for a few gold coins.

+

Merlin was sitting where Arthur had left him when he returned, his head resting against the tree trunk and his eyes closed. He had a pinched expression on his face and was far too pale, but he was able to muster a faint smile of greeting when he saw that Arthur was back.

  
“I was beginning to think you'd gone on without me,” he said, but the smile faded again when Arthur didn’t respond in kind. “Did you have any luck?”

  
“Of a sort,” Arthur replied. He held out a small vial, green and shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight. “Here—this is for you. She said it would help dull some of the pain.”

  
“Who said?” Merlin unstoppered the bottle and sniffed it warily, holding it between two fingers. It didn't _look_ particularly disgusting, though from long familiarity with Gaius' concoctions Arthur suspected it probably was. “Where did you get this?” 

  
“There’s a—” Arthur had been about to say, _witch_ , but thought better of it, “—woman who lives a few miles east of here; a healer. She’s agreed to give us shelter and food for a few days, until you’re back on your feet.” 

  
“That was kind of her.” Still, he didn't make any move to drink it. “Did she say what was in it?"

  
"Yes, we sat around swapping recipes," Arthur said sarcastically. "What does it matter? Just drink the damn thing so we can get moving."

  
Merlin shrugged. "Just wanted to make sure it wasn't going to turn me into a newt," he said, as if this were a reasonable thing to be afraid of. "Strange women who live alone in the woods aren't always very reliable, in my experience."

  
Arthur could only stare at him, uncertain whether that was meant to be a joke. A few hours ago, he would have sworn blind that Merlin didn't _have_ any experience, or at least none that he didn't already know about, but apparently his magic wasn't the only secret Merlin had been hiding.

  
“Most people think sorcerers aren’t very reliable, either,” he said finally, frustration making him harsher than he might otherwise have been. “But I’m trusting you, aren’t I?"

  
“Oh, is that what you’re doing? I wasn’t quite sure, what with all the stomping around and refusing to talk about it.”

  
That was rich, coming from him, but Arthur bit down on his irritation. All afternoon, while waiting in the woman’s hut and on his walk back, he’d told himself he was going to be fine with this. It was Merlin’s magic, Merlin’s secret to tell or withhold as he saw fit. In a kingdom such as Camelot, where the wrong word in the wrong place at the wrong time could get you killed, it was perfectly understandable that Merlin would choose to keep it hidden—especially from the prince. Arthur had no claim on him beyond that of duty, and worse yet was bound to uphold his father’s laws, which meant he had no right to expect Merlin to tell him everything.

  
The fact that he _wanted_ to have that right—desperately, stupidly, pointlessly—was neither here nor there.

  
“You started it,” he said—which, admittedly, was not the most mature statement he’d ever uttered. “Besides. I’m not threatening you at sword point or accusing you of plotting to steal my throne. At this point I’d say you have nothing to complain about.” 

  
“Oh, yes, and congratulations on being a decent human being,” Merlin scoffed. “Your father—”

  
“ _I’m not my father_ ,” Arthur snarled back, before catching himself. He took a deep breath and counted to ten. “It’s fine,” he said, when he had finished. “I won’t tell anyone. You can stay in Camelot if you want, I don’t care, so long as you don’t use it to hurt people. Does that cover everything?” 

  
Merlin’s expression, already distant, became even more remote, and he swirled the potion bottle one last time before downing it in one gulp. “Sure,” he agreed quietly, re-corking the vial. “Just as long as we both know where we stand.”


	12. We Must Not Look At Goblin Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #12: Goblin / Slippery [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
> Shh, I am in no way cheating with today's prompt, what are you talking about. Also, if you can tell me where Mistress Maddy's name and character come from, you win a prize.*
> 
> *The prize is me saying "WELL DONE!" because I don't actually have a prize to give you, sorry.

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/631951754667474944/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-12-goblin-by) ]

The trek back to the hedgewitch’s cottage took twice as long with Merlin at his side, but Arthur was relieved to see that he seemed to be in less pain now than he had been earlier. Either the rest or the witch’s potion had done him good, and though he still leaned heavily on Arthur’s supporting arm, some of the colour had returned to his cheeks by the time they reached the cottage gate. 

  
The hedgewitch—or Mistress Maddy, as she had introduced herself—was a small woman of indeterminate age, with an explosion of grey-white hair and piercing cornflower eyes. She took one look at Merlin hobbling up her front path and began to fuss over him as though he were a child with a scraped knee, ushering him inside without sparing Arthur a second glance. Amused, Arthur followed them, entertained both by the effect that Merlin had on her and by Merlin’s wide-eyed confusion as he was bundled into an overstuffed armchair and plied with food and drink. 

  
“Make yourself at home,” said Mistress Maddy, bustling off again to fetch some bandages and hot water. “Take your weight off that leg, dear, and let me look at it.”

  
Merlin obediently did as he was told, and Arthur perched on one of the other chairs opposite, glancing around the room. The inside of the hut was no less dilapidated than the outside, and just as chaotic in appearance. In one corner a battered suit of armour listed against the wall, completely out of place in such a setting, and in every clear space there were shelves upon shelves of books, many of them so old and worn as to be almost falling apart. It reminded Arthur a little bit of Gaius’ infirmary, with herbs hanging from hooks on the ceiling and potion bottles on almost every surface, and the large ginger cat reclining by the fire only added to the homey atmosphere.

  
“That’s Goblin,” said Mistress Maddy, when she returned. “So named because he's a slippery character who turns up where you least expect him. Don’t feed him anything or he’ll never leave you alone. I’m going to roll your trousers up, now,” she added to Merlin, without pausing for breath. “Tell me if it hurts.”

  
She set to work on cleaning the bite and smothering it in salve, peppering the Merlin with questions as she did so. He answered haltingly at first, but when she didn’t mention magic, or seem to think there was anything unusual about a traveler and his skinny, untrained manservant taking on a giant wolf in the dark, he began to relax, even going so far as to embroider some parts of the tale for her enjoyment. 

  
“And so you killed the wolf with your bare hands?” she asked Arthur, tying off the last of the bandages and giving Merlin’s leg a gentle pat. “Well, well. How heroic.” 

  
“Merlin helped,” Arthur said hastily, catching his manservant’s eye. “He was, uh—very brave.”

  
Merlin looked away to hide his smile, but Mistress Maddy didn’t seem to notice. “I’m sure he was,” she said, and took the opportunity to ply Merlin with more sweets.

+

“I notice you still haven’t been turned into a newt,” Arthur said later. Mistress Maddy had set up two truckle beds for them in the kitchen, and after helping Merlin to the one closest to the hearth she retreated to her second story bedroom, apparently unconcerned about leaving two strange men unsupervised in her home. “Or been abducted by fairies, or whatever it was you were afraid was going to happen.”

  
“There’s still time,” Merlin said sleepily, though he didn’t sound particularly concerned about it. His eyes slipped closed, and he leaned back against the pillows with a sigh. “She seems…nice.” 

  
“Hm. That’s one word for it.”

  
Merlin snorted. “You’re just jealous because she likes me best.” 

  
“Hardly.” Arthur toed off his boots and set his sword belt carefully by his pillow, but kept his borrowed tunic on for lack of any other alternative. It no longer smelled very much like Merlin, a fact that Arthur aggressively did not notice or care about. “Although that doesn’t say much for her taste. No, I was mostly commenting on the fact that you seemed to warm up to her once she started stuffing you with sweetmeats."

  
Merlin half-opened one eye to glare at him. "I was hungry," he said. "And, well. I suppose she does seem harmless. Still, it never hurts to be careful—especially when it comes to healers."

  
And there it was again—the hint of something more than just the Merlin he knew. Before he had known about the magic, Arthur had put these kinds of uncharacteristic moments down to accident or coincidence, but now he couldn't help wondering whether there was a story behind them. Maybe more than one story.

  
He wanted to ask, but Merlin had already rolled over and turned his back on him, effectively putting an end to the conversation. Arthur listened to his breathing even out, then crossed the room and unlaced Merlin’s boots for him, setting them on the floor beside the bed before pulling the blankets free and tucking them around him. Merlin didn’t stir, letting out a small sound that might have been contentment as he settled deeper into the lumpy mattress.

  
“Good night,” Arthur told him quietly. He waited a moment, but there was no reply, so he blew out the candles and took himself to bed, aching and bone-weary—and most of all, alone.


	13. At Your Peril

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #13: Perilous Lands / Dune [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
>  **Content warning:** mentions of illness and implied non-consensual drug use.
> 
> For the curious, Mistress Maddy's name/personality came from [here](https://disney.fandom.com/wiki/Madam_Mim).

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/632016459597594624/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-13-perilous-lands) ]

Thanks to Merlin’s injury, there was no longer any hope of them reaching the Mercian citadel before the beginning—or perhaps even the end—of the anniversary celebrations. Mistress Maddy seemed content to have them stay with her until Merlin was well enough to continue their journey, and since Merlin himself did not object, Arthur didn't either. At least they’d have a roof over their heads for the foreseeable future, even if it was a bit the worse for wear, and the cottage was so remote that any danger from potential assassination attempts seemed limited. 

  
That wasn't to say that it was easy. Mistress Maddy was a humming-bird of a woman, always flitting from one task to the next without ever sitting still, and she seemed, to Arthur’s annoyance, to have gotten his and Merlin’s roles entirely reversed. _Dear_ Merlin, as she called him, was never allowed to lift so much as a finger, but she had no qualms about ordering Arthur around as if he were the servant and Merlin some kind of royalty in disguise. More than once, Arthur was tempted to set her straight and tell her who he really was, but then he would remember Merlin’s comment about being careful and something would make him hold his tongue. Mistress Maddy might seem kind and inoffensive enough, but if nothing else, Arthur’s recent experiences had taught him the danger of making assumptions, even about people he thought he knew. 

  
On the third day of their stay, Merlin was deemed well enough to bathe, something he had apparently been looking forward to as much as Arthur had since they’d left Camelot. Mistress Maddy had shown Arthur to a cold stream that ran past the rear of the cottage and left him to it, but Merlin—of course—was granted access to a big half-barrel bath filled with steaming hot water and settled in front of the fire in the front room of the cottage. Mistress Maddy had conjured up the water literally by magic, and Arthur felt rather than saw the way Merlin looked at him as she did so, as if he were trying to discern Arthur's reaction. Arthur did his best not to flinch, either then or at any point when Mistress Maddy used magic in front of him, but the itch of Merlin's gaze still lingered between his shoulder-blades, and it was all he could do not to return the stare in kind. It didn't help that Merlin needed Arthur's help to climb in and out of the bath, or that Arthur had to spend the next half hour with his hands on Merlin's bare skin, helping him wash his hair and back while forcing himself to appear completely indifferent. He didn't sleep particularly well that night.

  
On the fourth day, Arthur was shelling peas in the back garden when Merlin came limping out to join him.

  
“Don’t tell Mistress Maddy,” he said, settling himself onto the bench at Arthur’s side. “But I was going crazy stuck in that house all by myself.” 

  
Arthur felt one corner of his mouth tick upwards, and glanced reflexively over his shoulder for their host. “Do you suppose that’s what happened to her?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “Or are all you sorcerers a bit—”

  
He motioned with one hand, and Merlin elbowed him. “Shut up,” he said, but he was grinning. “It’s not like you can talk. How many times have you been hit in the head so far?” 

  
Arthur raised his eyebrows, but instead of responding he just picked up the basket of peas and held it out to him. After a moment's hesitation, Merlin took a handful and popped them into his mouth, and when Arthur set the basket down again Merlin started helping him, peeling the lush green pods with the easy competence of someone who had been doing so all his life. 

  
On the fifth day, Merlin followed Arthur outside as soon as he left the house—not to help him this time, as Arthur soon discovered, but to laugh at him as he struggled to harvest the pumpkins with Mistress Maddy’s blunted pruning blade. 

  
“You know,” Arthur said, through gritted teeth. “I don’t know why she’s so eager for me to help her with these things. I don’t know the first thing about gardening, and you’d think it’d be easier for her to do it herself.” 

  
“Perhaps she thinks that would be cheating.”

  
Arthur eyed him sceptically. “And I suppose you’ve never done any of your chores with magic."

  
The guilty look on Merlin’s face was answer enough. Arthur shook his head, torn between affection and an exasperation that felt a lot like fear. How many times had Merlin nearly gotten caught and killed for nothing more than sweeping the hearth, or lighting a fire? It was honestly a miracle he hadn’t been executed several times over.

  
“You ought to be more careful,” he said, without thinking, and Merlin blinked at him, startled. “That is—you’ve already been arrested for sorcery once. My father won’t be so easily put off the next time you do something stupid.”

  
“I know.” Merlin chewed on his lower lip, studying Arthur’s face as though searching for something in his expression. “Does that…does that mean I’m coming back to Camelot with you?” he asked, and Arthur glanced away.

  
“I already told you that you can if you want to.” 

  
“Yes, but do _you_ want me to?” Merlin asked, as though this were an entirely different question. Perhaps it was, but that didn’t mean the answer wasn’t the same.

  
“Of course.” Arthur sawed at another vine, grateful this time that the knife was so blunt, since the effort required meant he had an excuse for keeping his gaze on his work. “I mean, I’m not—I don’t _not_ want you to.” 

  
Merlin didn’t reply for a full minute, and when he did, it was only to stand up and hobble closer. He swayed a little where he stood, but when Arthur looked at him askance he just shook his head and eased himself down into the dirt beside him, up to his elbows in the pumpkin patch.

  
“Here,” he said, holding his hand out for the knife. “If you cut the stem further back, it'll be easier, and they’ll keep for longer. Let me show you…"

+

That night, Arthur dreamed about the Perilous Lands. He had never been there, of course; few people had, and even fewer still had survived to tell the tale. In the dream, however, there was some reason he had ventured out into the lifeless wasteland that was vitally important, and he was making his way towards the tower with heavy steps, aware that he was going to be too late but determined to try anyway. The closer he got to the tower, the more parts of it started to flake away and crumble into the dunes, until nothing was left behind but a pile of old stones, but for some reason this wasn’t a bad thing. In the dream, Arthur was relieved—happy, even. He could smell the scent of ashes on the warm breeze, taste copper-rich soil like the forest after a storm. 

  
When he woke up, Merlin was tossing and turning in his bed, and the sky outside the window was dark with rain. 

  
“I don’t feel so good,” Merlin mumbled, and Arthur instinctively reached across the gap between them to touch his forehead. A moment later, he yanked it away again, letting out a hiss of shock. Merlin was burning up, but it was a strange heat, so intense that it was almost cold—like plunging his hand into a snowbank in the middle of winter. “Arthur?” 

  
“Shh,” Arthur said automatically. “It’s all right.” 

  
But it wasn’t all right, and Arthur had no idea what to do. Merlin watched with bleary eyes as Arthur pulled the covers up over him again and added another log to the fire, then took a candle and went to wake Mistress Maddy. The hedgewitch was a heavy sleeper, as it turned out, but she shook off her drowsiness soon enough when Arthur told her what was wrong.

  
“Merlin?” she said. “I’ll be right there.” 

  
She followed him back down the stairs, pulling on her robe as she went. At any other time, Arthur might have been embarrassed to have seen the older woman in such a state of undress, but now all he felt was impatience. By the time they reached the kitchen again, Merlin was shivering beneath his blankets, his eyes closed, and Mistress Maddy clucked her tongue anxiously. She checked his pulse and his breathing, then lifted up his eyelids to check his pupils. Merlin did not react. 

  
“Oh dear,” said Mistress Maddy. “Oh, that’s not good at all. It wasn’t supposed to affect him like this.”

  
“What?” His attention on his manservant, Arthur barely heard what she was saying at first, but then the words sank in and he rounded on her. “What wasn’t supposed to affect him like this? _What have you done_?” 

  
Mistress Maddy only looked at him, her blue eyes wide and round as if she couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. 

  
“Why, the inhibitors I’ve been giving him, of course,” she said. “I’m afraid there must have been some side effects.” 


	14. Throwing Down the Gauntlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #14: Gauntlet / Armour [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ] 
> 
> I have officially made it through two whole weeks of Merlinktober! That's an entire week more than I've ever managed before \o/ Thank you all so much for your comments and support – now let's see if I can finish the rest of the month as well...

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/632134595666673664/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-14-gauntlet-by) ]

Arthur reached for his sword, but of course, it wasn’t there—he’d left it on the bed when he went to her for help, and now it was in her hand, the tip levelled unerringly at his heart. 

  
“If you’ve hurt him,” he growled, clenching his fists, “I swear I’ll—”

  
“You’ll what, dear?” said Mistress Maddy, unconcerned. “I’m afraid I seem to have you at a disadvantage. And you have no friendly sorcerer to protect you now.” 

  
So she knew what Merlin was, then. “What have you done to him?”

  
“Nothing permanent. A few drops of magic-suppressant in his tea every morning, that’s all, to keep him from using his powers again. It takes a couple of doses to have any real effect, especially for a warlock as strong as he is, but ultimately it’s harmless.”

  
“It doesn’t look harmless to me.” Even during the short time that they’d been talking, Merlin seemed to have gotten worse: his dark hair was plastered to his forehead and his mouth was open, his breath coming in ragged little gasps. Mistress Maddy’s eyes flickered towards him, and Arthur almost thought she looked concerned, but when he made to take a step forward she shook her head, pressing the point of the sword against his chest again and forcing him to stop. 

  
“He’ll be fine,” she said firmly. “Besides—after you survived our third attempt, I didn’t really have much of a choice. I couldn’t very well let you both escape, now could I?” 

  
Even though he had been expecting something of the sort, the confession still took Arthur by surprise. “I don't understand. Why would _you_ be trying to kill me? We barely know each other!”

  
Mistress Maddy gave him the sort of look that Arthur’s tutors used to give him when he’d said something particularly dim. “Not you, dear,” she said gently, pointing over at Merlin’s unconscious form. “Him. And we weren’t trying to _kill_ the poor boy. We were trying to free him.” 

  
Not for the first time since he had stumbled upon the little cottage, it occurred to Arthur that Mistress Maddy was, well. A little bit mad. “Merlin isn’t a prisoner,” he said. “He’s my manservant. He’s free to come and go as he chooses.” 

  
“Lord Emrys is bound by a destiny not of his own making,” Mistress Maddy said, and her little round chin jutted forward obstinately. “Lord Emrys has been taught to believe that you are the Once and Future King—as if any fruit of the Pendragon line could be worth bowing to. He will need to be…” She groped for words, and then said delicately, “ _Re-educated_.” 

  
Arthur’s heart gave an extra hard thump inside his chest, as though protesting anything of the sort, but he tried not to let his reaction show on his face.

  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. “But if you’re planning on trying to teach Merlin anything, let me save you the trouble. He’s a terrible listener and he never does a single thing he’s told. You’d be wasting your time.” 

  
Mistress Maddy laughed. There was a hard edge to her voice now, as if he had just confirmed her worst suspicions. “You see?” she said, gesturing. “This is why we had to act. You don’t even know what he is, do you? None of you do. Forcing him to scrape and cower as a servant when you ought to be treating him like a god!” 

  
Arthur snorted—he couldn’t help it. “Merlin’s never scraped or cowered to anyone in his life,” he said. “And he’s more than just my servant—he’s my friend.” 

  
“Ha. Friend.” Mistress Maddy sniffed. “A friend who could never be his true self in your presence—who feared for his very _life_ because of you. Yes, I’m sure the two of you are very close.”

  
Arthur wanted to contradict her, but the image of Merlin’s stricken face when he’d revealed his magic stopped him. Without knowing it, Mistress Maddy had put her finger on the very thing he’d been asking himself ever since he’d found out Merlin was a sorcerer. Had they ever really been friends? Could they have ever really been friends—let alone more than friends—with such an imbalance of power between them? And most importantly, perhaps, just what was Merlin’s opinion of him, really? They insulted one another all the time, but it had never occurred to him that Merlin might mean it seriously.

  
When Arthur didn’t say anything, Mistress Maddy smiled. “You see? You understand. Lord Emrys is the greatest sorcerer to have ever lived. He could never be friends with a _Pendragon_.”

  
“He saved my life,” Arthur pointed out. “He’s helped me, he’s—he’s almost died for me. Why would he do that if we weren’t friends?” 

  
“Unfortunately, there are some who have tried to convince him that you are important.” Mistress Maddy made a moue of disapproval. “He believes it is his destiny to protect you, so that you may one day become the Once and Future King. But we know better.”

  
“We?” 

  
“The Order of the White Ash. Followers of the one true prophecy. We alone will bring about the union of Albion.”

  
Her face lit up as she pronounced the words, and the zealous fervour in her voice made Arthur wince. Had she merely been motivated by money or politics, he might have been able to reason with her, but fanaticism of that sort was deaf to rationality. He chanced a look at Merlin, still sweating and shaking on his pallet, and his stomach twisted. Regardless of what Mistress Maddy said, he didn’t look particularly powerful just at the moment.

  
“And how are you planning to do that?” he asked. “By sending your assassin to kill him?”

  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mistress Maddy said, and she actually sounded a little impatient. “He was only going to kill _you_. Lord Emrys would have been perfectly safe.” 

  
“The wolf bit him!” 

  
“An accident.” Mistress Maddy pursed her lips. “Wulfric always did get a bit carried away when he was in that form. But he wouldn’t have had to resort to it at all if it hadn’t been for your interference, so really this is all your fault.”

  
Arthur couldn’t imagine how, but he supposed she must blame him for not sitting back and allowing himself to be murdered that night at the inn. Under the circumstances, he couldn’t say that he regretted it—in fact, he fully intended to repeat the experience as soon as the opportunity presented itself. “If I’m such a nuisance to you, I’m surprised you kept me around this long,” he said, inching slowly towards the fire. Mistress Maddy might have his sword, but there was a perfectly good poker by the hearth if he could only get to it. “Did you change your mind about killing me?” 

  
“For the time being.” Mistress Maddy moved along with him, too intent on keeping him away from Merlin to realise what he was doing. “Until Lord Emrys is convinced of your unworthiness, his concern for your well-being will help to ensure his compliance.” 

  
“I see. Well, good luck with that.” 

  
Arthur lunged for the fireplace, seizing hold of the fire iron and swinging it in a wide arc towards the witch. But Mistress Maddy was faster. With uncanny speed for a woman her age, she brought up the sword to block his blow, sending sparks flying as the two weapons collided. 

  
“ _Asyle_!” she shouted. The poker flew out of Arthur’s grasp, clattering into the wall behind him, and he was forced to duck out of the way as she aimed another strike in his direction. “ _Me begíeme_.”

  
Her eyes flashed gold, and Arthur retreated, backing towards the doorway as she advanced on him with the sword raised. Behind her, Merlin moaned and tossed his head, as if he were on some level aware of what was happening, and in that split second of distraction Arthur failed to hear the sound of someone coming up behind him. He turned—had the momentary impression of a gaping helmet, the horrifying wrongness of a suit of armour without anyone inside it—and then a metal gauntlet slammed painfully into his temple, and everything went dark. 


	15. The Siege Perilous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #15: Siege / Outpost [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
> Short chapter today, folks, as I had to go out this afternoon in order to vote. Which you should do, also, if you live somewhere that happens to be having an election this year! Especially if that country is one with a certain fascist wannabe dictator in charge. Just sayin' :P

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/632202961149444096/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-15-siege-by) ]

Arthur woke to darkness. 

  
His head was throbbing, a low, persistent ache that made him feel as though he were about to throw up, and when he rolled over and forced himself to his feet the world dipped alarmingly out of focus, so that he wobbled where he stood for a moment before his vision steadied.

  
He was no longer in the cottage, that much was clear. A short, stumbling trip to the (barred) window told him that he was somewhere high up, overlooking the forest—perhaps a disused outpost or watchtower, positioned to guard against a long-ago enemy or warn the citadel in case of siege. He wasn’t bound, which was one point in his favour, but both the door and window were locked and he could see no other way out of the tiny room short of breaking through the wall.

  
If Arthur had had magic, escaping would have been child’s play, but Arthur did not have magic, or a weapon, or anything other than a crippling headache and a growing sense of urgency that he could not quite place. 

  
“Hello?” he called, thumping a fist on the door. It was solid and wooden, and seemed to deaden all sound even as he hammered on it. “Is anyone out there?” 

  
No answer. He tried to sort through the tangle of his thoughts—he had a hazy memory of being transported in the back of a cart, bouncing over a rutted track like a sack of grain, but nothing beyond that and the vague sense that there was someone missing. Someone important.

  
Where was Merlin?

  
He banged on the door again, ignoring the spike of pain that shot through his head at the movement, and bellowed his manservant’s name in the same tone he used when Merlin was late with his breakfast for the umpteenth time, the tone to which Merlin never failed to respond with some ridiculous quip and a roll of his eyes as he barged his way into Arthur's chambers.

  
There was no reply. 


	16. This Space Left Intentionally Blank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #16: Space / Rocket [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
> I wanted to split the story into two parts - 15 days from Arthur's POV, 15 from Merlin's POV - and since that would leave an odd day out, I decided to be clever and use "space" in a few different ways: first, as, well, a picture of space; second, as a silhouette (empty space); and thirdly as a free space for myself to catch up and a placeholder to put some space between the two sections. The next chapter and picture will follow shortly :)


	17. Tempest in a Teacup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #17: Lightning / Storm [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
> The lightning is a photo overlay (I'm not that good at clouds! 😭), but the drawing is my own.

Merlin drifted. There were people all around him, speaking over and atop one another, their voices low and furious as they said things that didn’t make sense. 

  
“…can’t possibly be ignorant of the most basic magical principles—”

  
“…necessary…thwarted our attempts…”

  
“—foolish old woman, Madeline! Lord Emrys is magic itself, you can’t just…”

  
He groaned and rolled over. Something pulsed behind his eyelids, magic roiling through his insides like a storm that was determined to tear him to pieces, and he was conscious that he was drowning in it even as some other part of him cried out in thirst. 

  
“If he dies now, how will we ever—”

  
“…the only way to stop it is—”

  
“Emrys, can you hear me? My lord—”

  
And then, beneath the cacophony, something familiar: Arthur’s voice, as imperious and demanding as it ever was, tinged with some sharper emotion that Merlin couldn’t name.

  
_Merlin, wake up!_

+

It was late morning when Merlin finally jolted awake, sitting up in bed almost without thinking as deep-rooted muscle memory urged him to get up. He was already in the process of scrambling to his feet when he realised where he was.

  
Not in the castle. Not even in Camelot. And definitely not well enough to be standing up so soon.

  
He slumped back onto the pallet, the room spinning, and lowered his head between his knees as he fought not to pass out. The last time he’d felt this awful, he’d been seven years old and had just used his magic to make Old Man Simmons’ orchard bloom out of season. He’d been confined to his bed for a whole week afterwards, his mother had been worried sick, and Merlin had learned a valuable lesson about not expending too much power all at once—not because he didn’t have enough, but because he had _too much_ , and connecting oneself to that amount of raw magic tended to have consequences.

  
He didn’t remember doing anything so spectacular this time, though. In fact, the last thing he remembered was being in the garden with Arthur, watching the prince mangle Mistress Maddy’s pumpkin plants and fighting the impulse to shake him until Arthur smiled at him again. Arthur had been complaining about his chores, so Merlin had helped him, and later when Merlin started feeling ill…

  
Lifting his head again, he looked across the room at Arthur’s cot—or rather, the place where Arthur’s cot had been. He was alone in the kitchen save for the ginger cat, who had claimed a place on the windowsill and was ignoring him entirely as it washed one snow-white paw. There was nothing in the room to show that someone else had been there, and yet Merlin could have sworn he’d heard the prince’s voice. 

  
So where was Arthur?

  
Moving more carefully this time, Merlin got up, using the back of one of the kitchen chairs to help lever himself to his feet. Bright sparks of white light spotted his vision, and he breathed in deeply as he waited for his body to adjust, a cold trickle anxiety sliding down his spine. Not even after Simmons’ apple trees had he felt this weak, this _empty_ , as if all the life had been drained out of his body until only the dregs remained. Surely he hadn’t been that ill? He remembered feeling feverish, yes, and his memory of the past few—hours? days?—was muddled at best, but even when he'd been a child no mere illness had ever affected him like this.

  
The cat, which had stopped washing itself to watch him, jumped down and padded across the kitchen floor, its tail held jauntily high as it disappeared into the next room. A few moments later, Mistress Maddy herself appeared in the doorway, her whole face brightening when she saw that Merlin was awake.

  
“There you are,” she said, and smiled at him. “Are you feeling better?”

  
Merlin shrugged one shoulder, both because ‘better’ was a bit of an overstatement and because he couldn’t seem to shake off the lingering sense of unease. “I guess so,” he said, and then because she seemed to be expecting something more, he added, “How long was I asleep?” 

  
“A couple of days.” She moved into the room with more confidence now, bustling around him to take his temperature and peer into his eyes. “Fortunately, you appear to be stabilising nicely, now that I have the dosage right.”

  
A couple of days. Merlin looked past her to the door, expecting at any moment for Arthur to walk in and make some kind of quip about his laziness, or the lengths to which Merlin would go in order to escape his chores. When Arthur still did not appear, however, his feeling of unease increased, and something heavy seemed to settle into his stomach.

  
“I expect Arthur's made quite a mess in the garden by now, then," he said, trying to sound casual. “I hope he hasn’t been pulling up too many weeds without me.”

  
“Not at all, dear,” said Mistress Maddy, now checking his pulse. “Arthur’s not here.” 

  
The heavy thing turned out to be a stone, dragging Merlin down. He swayed where he stood.

  
“Not here?” he repeated stupidly. Whatever he’d been expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. “But—where is he, then?” 

  
Had Arthur _left_? It wasn’t something Merlin could ever have imagined him doing, but that had been before the magic, before Merlin had revealed his secret and single-handedly destroyed their friendship. What if Arthur had changed his mind about letting Merlin stay in Camelot? What if he’d decided to leave Merlin here, in Mercia, to save himself the trouble of arranging his execution?

  
But no. Arthur would not abandon him while he was so ill, of that Merlin was certain—no matter how angry he was, he would not have left until he knew Merlin was well; not unless something else had happened in the meantime.

  
Not unless he had been taken by force.

  
Without thinking, Merlin reached out for his magic, only to find it wasn’t there. Tiny sparks of lightning danced between his fingertips before winking out again, useless, and had it not been for Mistress Maddy catching hold of his arm he would have fallen over, the world swaying sickeningly around him. 

  
“There now,” said the old woman, patting Merlin’s shoulder as she manoeuvred him back onto his pallet. “You shouldn’t be out of bed in your condition. You need to rest! Your magic will return to you in time, provided you don't overexert yourself.” 

  
“What did you do?” Merlin rasped, fear and horror choking the words in his throat. “What did you do to me? And where's Arthur?” 

  
“Never you mind,” Mistress Maddy said, pushing him down onto the mattress and pulling the blankets over him. Merlin was too stunned even to protest, and in any case he was more concerned about the answer to his question. “He is safe for the moment, and he will remain that way, provided you agree to do what we want.” 

  
Merlin did not want to agree to anything. Merlin wanted to tear the cottage apart brick by brick until he found his prince, but for Arthur's sake he tried to stay calm. “And what do you want?” he croaked.

  
Mistress Maddy smiled. “Why the same as you do, of course,” she said. “To aid the Once and Future King and ensure the return of magic to all of Albion.” 


	18. Caught in the Net

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #18: Net / Trap [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
>  **Content warning:** non-consensual drug and magic use, brief mentions of Druid massacres and attempted brainwashing.

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/632493460079935488/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-18-net-by) ]

It didn’t take Merlin long to realise that his magic wasn’t, in fact, going to come back on its own—at least, not until Mistress Maddy allowed it to do so. He wasn’t sure exactly how she was doing it, but whenever he tried to summon even the smallest amount of power it sputtered and flickered out, like a fire trying to spark on too-damp wood. He learned very quickly that any attempt to use it would end with him confined to his bed for the rest of the day, and that trying to escape that way was likely to do more harm than good. 

  
Even this, however, was not the worst of his problems. More pressing even than the issue of his magic was the fact that he didn’t know where Arthur was, or if he was even still alive. Mistress Maddy assured him that the prince was fine, and that he would remain so as long as Merlin cooperated, but Merlin wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not, especially since she didn’t seem to place much value on Arthur’s life. 

  
“You must understand, my lord,” she said, when Merlin had confronted her that first day. “We mean you no harm. It truly grieves me to have to hold you prisoner like this, but it’s for your own good.” 

  
“My own good,” Merlin said, eyeing her stonily. “And I suppose that’s why you took my magic away as well?”

  
Mistress Maddy didn’t seem to hear the sarcasm. “Yes, my lord. You believe you are doing the right thing, and we respect that. But the fact of the matter is, you have been betrayed. The man you think of as the Once and Future King is an imposter, deserving of neither your loyalty nor your protection, and we can’t allow you to use your precious gifts in his defence.” 

  
This was a recurring theme with her: the Pendragons were evil, Arthur was evil, and the true Once and Future King had been fostered out as a child in secret, even now growing up in the countryside under an assumed name until he could assume his rightful place on the throne. As far as conspiracy theories went, Merlin had heard more convincing stories in Camelot’s taverns, and he might have dismissed her words entirely if it hadn’t been for one tiny, niggling doubt. Arthur had said he didn’t care about Merlin’s magic—had even agreed to let him come back to Camelot without any fuss, yet he’d never actually explained _why_ he would allow a known sorcerer back into his father’s kingdom, in defiance of the law and all his duties. Even here in Mercia, his tolerance of those with magic seemed predicated more on political expediency than on genuine acceptance; he wouldn’t risk the treaty with Bayard by moving against them, and he saw no need to attack those who were no active threat, but he had never outright condemned his father’s belief that sorcery was evil. 

  
Mistress Maddy seemed to think that Arthur was just as bad as Uther, and the more Merlin tried to defend the prince the more adamant she became in her condemnation of him. Some time after Merlin had woken up—he’d lost track of the days by now—she sat down across from him for one of their little chats and told him about the raids the Pendragons had carried out after the Purge, the men, women and children who had been slaughtered at Arthur’s hands.

  
“No,” Merlin said firmly. “Arthur would never do that.”

  
Mistress Maddy was sympathetic. She patted his hand, but when Merlin went to pull away she grabbed his wrists and kept him there, looking into his eyes. 

  
“I can show you,” she said coaxingly. “I have that power. Let me show you what he really is.”

  
Before Merlin could say yes or no, the vision pushed its way into his mind anyway: a village at night, the darkness rent by flames and high-pitched screams. Someone else’s fear slammed into him, the magic tightening around him like a net as he struggled to jerk free, and then he was running, stumbling through the trees as he tried to escape the devastation around him. Men in red cloaks were everywhere, their swords gleaming as they struck his people down. Family. Friends. No one was safe, and no one was spared—and there, in the middle of it all, he saw the unmistakeable gleam of golden hair and bright blue eyes; saw Arthur’s sword dripping blood as he gloated over the carnage like something out of a nightmare. 

  
When Mistress Maddy finally let him go, Merlin was gasping where he sat, nauseated as much from the unwanted intrusion of her magic as from what he had seen.

  
“He pretends to be your friend, but he is a monster,” Mistress Maddy said, her voice low and trembling with hatred. “Think about the way he has treated you, my lord, even after you used your magic to save his life. Does that seem like a king worth following to you?”

+

The most obvious conclusion was that Mistress Maddy was lying to him, either intentionally or—as was perhaps equally probable—because she herself believed what she had seen, or had convinced herself of it afterwards to the point where it made no difference. Memories were tricky things, and so were prophecies; Merlin wasn’t given to trusting either without further evidence, and everything in him screamed that he was being set up. From the things Mistress Maddy had let slip to him, it seemed clear now that Arthur’s discovery of the cottage had not been a coincidence; the whole thing must have been a trap from the beginning, and he and Merlin had walked right into it. Presumably, Mistress Maddy and whoever she was working for had been responsible for the attempts on Arthur’s life, seeing him as a threat to their warped view of Merlin’s destiny, and when the two of them had survived they had decided to take a different approach to undermining the prince.

  
And yet, in spite of this conviction, Merlin found it difficult to fall asleep that night. He knew what Arthur’s father was, and had been, just as he knew that Arthur could not have avoided some complicity in Uther’s crimes. Even if Mistress Maddy’s memories were false, the fact remained that Arthur was his father’s son, and would inherit more than just the crown when Uther died. Hadn't Merlin himself told the Great Dragon he had the wrong person? 

  
Eventually, Merlin gave up on getting any rest and got out of bed. He still couldn’t make it very far without assistance, but that hardly mattered for his present purposes—it was the ensuing exhaustion he was interested in not a specific destination, and it wasn't as if he would be successful if he tried to leave.

  
He reached the main door after several minutes of sustained effort, and after a moment’s hesitation tried the latch; as he'd expected, the door was locked tight, and refused to budge even when he tugged at it, presumably enchanted to open only at Mistress Maddy’s command. The windows were likewise spelled shut, and he was on the point of deciding whether or not it was worth checking the fireplace when he heard a faint scratching noise coming from the other room.

  
Merlin wasn’t given to flights of fancy as a rule—regardless of what Arthur might have said on the subject, most of his fears were grounded in very real fact, and for a horrible moment he was certain that Mistress Maddy had caught him out. Then the noise came again, and when Merlin had nerved himself up to peer around the doorway, he was relieved to see only the witch's ginger cat, playing with something in the corner.

  
"What do you have there, puss?" Merlin whispered, curious. He would have thought it was a rat, save that it didn't squeak or move or try to get away, and the sound it did make indicated that it was heavier than your average rodent. Goblin ignored him, or appeared to, but as Merlin took a hesitant step forward the cat batted its prize in his direction, and it rolled to a stop at Merlin's feet with a quiet tinkle of glass.

  
It was a bottle—almost grey in the darkness, but as the moonlight struck it, Merlin's eyes caught the faintest hint of green. Both the shape and the colour reminded him of the one Arthur had given him, days ago now, to help with the pain in his leg, but instead of the rune for good health this bottle was marked with a drawing of a white ash tree. When Merlin picked it up and took a cautious sniff, the odour was immediately familiar.

  
“Henbane,” he murmured, realisation dawning. "Or a tincture of it, anyway." A mixture known to induce hallucinations and suggestibility—and, in high enough concentrations, to interfere with the powers of even the strongest sorcerer.


	19. Shock to the System

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #19: Shock / Dizzy [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/632668458822287360/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-19-shock-by) ]

The signs were obvious, now that Merlin knew to look for them. The dry mouth, the dizziness, the difficulty in walking—no wonder Mistress Maddy was always hovering over him, scolding him into finishing his meals; she wanted to make sure he got a proper dose. 

  
Knowing _how_ she was affecting him was only half the battle, however. The next morning, Merlin watched out of the corner of his eye as Mistress Maddy prepared their breakfast, hoping to catch the moment she added the poison to his food so he would know which dishes to avoid. Either she was waiting until later in the day to dose him, however, or she had perfected her sleight of hand to the point where it was invisible, because he was unable to determine when or even if the henbane had been added to any of the bowls. 

  
“Eat up, eat up,” she told him, smiling brightly as she set the steaming tray across his knees. “You need your strength, my lord.” 

  
“Thank you,” Merlin said, since he couldn’t really say anything else. Being addressed as ‘my lord’ still took some getting used to, particularly since the woman was essentially his gaoler, and the sensation was made all the stranger by imagining, and then regretting, the expression on Arthur’s face had he been there to hear it. "It looks...delicious." 

  
He ate sparingly that day, and the next, tipping out his drink and smuggling away small portions of food whenever Mistress Maddy wasn’t looking. As far as strategies went, it was not particularly sustainable—he needed to eat, and the witch was already watching him like a hawk—so it was imperative that he should find Arthur and escape as soon as possible. The problem was, how? There were small signs here and there that Merlin's magic might be coming back, tremulous, tentative things that might have just been his imagination; but even if he had his powers to rely on, Mistress Maddy had so far remained tight-lipped about Arthur's location, and Merlin couldn’t quiet the nagging fear that she might have disposed of him for good. 

  
At last, he decided that the simplest approach was best. 

  
“I need to speak to Arthur,” he said, when Mistress Maddy came in to deliver his lunch a few days later. The bowls rattled slightly as they hit the table; then she steadied herself and took a step back, furrowing her brows at him suspiciously. 

  
“Begging your pardon, my lord,” she said, “but the less you say to him, the better. After the things he’s done, he isn’t fit to do so much as wipe your boots; you’d be better off forgetting his existence.” 

  
Merlin, struck by the sudden image of Arthur on his knees, took a moment to recall the lie he had assembled the night before. “You’re probably right,” he said, for once grateful that the prince was nowhere in earshot as he forced himself to smile. “But I wasn’t planning on talking to him. Rather, I was hoping he’d talk to me.” He took a deep breath. He was a terrible liar, so he had opted for telling her something that was mostly the truth, albeit stretched a little here and there. “Arthur is…was…my friend. If I’m going to accept any of the things you’ve told me, then I need to hear his side of the story in order to make up my mind. I think that’s only fair.” 

  
There was a long silence, during which Mistress Maddy actually appeared to be thinking it over. Merlin sat very still with his hands in his lap, trying to appear as innocent and unthreatening as possible—something which, as Arthur had repeatedly told him, he was definitely very good at—and to allay any suspicion he forced himself to take a bite of the seed cake she had placed in front of him and wash it down with a sip of tea. He could have sworn he could taste the bitter flavour of the henbane as he swallowed it down.

  
Eventually, Mistress Maddy shook her head. “You know he’ll only lie,” she said. “The Pendragons will do anything to prevent the world from learning of their crimes. What good will speaking to him do?”

  
“You'd be surprised.” Merlin's heart thumped hard against his chest. He pushed his cup away and leaned towards her. “I know him; I’ll know if he lies. Please—if you truly believe he’s evil, then I have the right to know, but I'm not going to believe it until I hear him say so.” 

  
Mistress Maddy hesitated a few moments longer, but perhaps his plea had finally gotten through to her, because at length she nodded. “Very well,” she said at last. “We’ll go tomorrow.” 

  
  
+

  
  
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Merlin couldn’t help but grin when he saw where they’d been keeping Arthur. After all the stories he’d told, not to mention the many times he’d called _Merlin_ a girl, there was something undoubtedly ironic about the fact that Arthur was now locked up in a tower like a damsel in distress, and Merlin made a mental note to tease him about it later. Always assuming they survived long enough for there to be a later, anyway, and that he and Arthur were still on teasing terms, which wasn't something he could comfortably take for granted. 

  
The tower was part wood and part stone, with several steps leading up from the base towards the prince's prison. A pair of guards in black livery waited at the top, swords hung at their waists and silver ash trees emblazoned on their chests. They seemed to have been expecting visitors, or perhaps they knew Mistress Maddy by sight, because as soon as they saw her they bowed and held out a ring of keys, and before Merlin had quite prepared himself for it the door was opening, swinging inward on creaking hinges to reveal—

  
"Arthur," Merlin breathed.

  
The prince looked tireder and dirtier than when Merlin had seen him last, the remnants of fading bruises marring his jaw and dark smudges under his eyes, but as soon as he saw Merlin his face lit up. He scrambled to his feet, pausing only when he saw the rest of Merlin’s entourage, then apparently dismissed them as unimportant.

  
"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded, and Mistress Maddy made an offended noise. "I thought for sure you must be dead."

  
"Sorry to disappoint." Merlin smiled at him, feeling something tight in his chest relax as Arthur glowered back. He didn’t need Mistress Maddy or a dragon to tell him that Arthur was his destiny; he didn’t even need his magic. Arthur would always be his—friend, prince, or king—and Merlin allowed himself a brief moment to bask in the relief of that knowledge before he crossed the room and pulled the other man into a hug.

  
Arthur stiffened immediately—they did not _hug_ , even on a good day—and it was a long moment before his arms came up as well, tentatively wrapping around Merlin’s back. Merlin breathed him in, resisting the impulse to burst into tears like the girl Arthur had always accused him of being, and took the opportunity to murmur into Arthur’s ear, 

  
“If I can get you a sword, can you get us out of here?”

  
He heard Arthur’s quiet intake of breath, felt his shoulders slump in what might have been relief or understanding. He turned his face in to Merlin’s neck, and when he spoke his mouth brushed against Merlin’s skin in a way that sent tingles down his spine. “Yes.” 

  
Merlin squeezed him tighter in acknowledgement, then took a slow step back. How many times had they stood like this, shoulder to shoulder against a common enemy? It should have felt familiar, and yet Merlin’s stomach was churning as if it were the first time all over again. In a way, it was: the first time Arthur had fought with him while knowing about his magic; the first time Merlin could actually fight openly, with no secrets, rather than having to hide who he truly was. 

  
Squashing down a sudden burst of hope at the thought, Merlin turned. Mistress Maddy and the two guards were standing in the doorway, watching them. Mistress Maddy was scowling, her arms folded across her chest.

  
“Well?” she said. “Go ahead, dear. Ask him what you need to know.” 

  
Even under such dire circumstances, Merlin was almost tempted. If he asked Arthur about the Druids now, when he wasn’t expecting it, what would he say? Would he deny it outright, or would the shock of it surprise him into telling the truth? But then he looked at Arthur—Arthur who was watching him steadily, ready to act despite the fact that he could have had no idea what was going on, waiting for Merlin to give the signal as he had that day in the inn. He would always bear part of his father's guilt, there was no denying that, and at some point they were going to have to talk—about the Druids, about Merlin's magic, all of it. But surely Arthur's willingness to trust in him, inexplicable as it was, meant that there was still hope.

  
“I already know everything important,” he said, making the decision. He reached for his magic, and this time, he found it—weaker than it should have been, but there, no longer a sputtering candle but a vibrant, flickering flame. “And what I know is this: Arthur will always be my king, prophecy or no prophecy. And you’re going to regret ever laying a hand on him.” 


	20. Taking on Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #20: Underwater / Coral [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ] 
> 
> 🎵 My head's under water but I'm breathing fine  
> You're crazy and I'm out of my mind... 🎶
> 
>  **Content note:** Brief moment of torture (onscreen) and minor character death (off-screen). Spoilers for 4x10: A Herald of the New Age, if you haven't seen it.

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/632746436598038528/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-20-underwater-by) ]

At first, it seemed like their luck was finally about to turn. In the moment of surprise generated by Merlin’s declaration, he was able to use his magic to yank a sword from one of the guards, who grabbed helplessly for it as it flew into Arthur’s waiting hand. Mistress Maddy shrieked, and the second guard drew his weapon, but Merlin sent him flying into the wall with a flick of his wrist and he didn’t get up again.

  
That just left Mistress Maddy, who up until now had seemed like less of a threat than the two armed men—and that was when their luck began to run out. Merlin’s magic, still unstable thanks to Mistress Maddy’s interference, guttered and winked out, exhausted, and Merlin stumbled back against the wall under a wave of dizziness so strong his legs almost gave way from under him. Across the room, Mistress Maddy drew herself up, saying coldly,

  
“You made the wrong choice, Emrys. The False King will never leave this tower alive.” 

  
Arthur side-stepped the first bolt of magic she sent his way, but only just, and it hit the wall with a sizzling hiss that made the whole tower shudder. The space was too small and too crowded for him to dodge for long, however, and the second bolt caught him in the shoulder, sending him staggering back as the sword clattered to the ground.

  
“You killed my family,” Mistress Maddy growled, stalking towards him. She looked enraged, her wild hair made even wilder by the current snapping in the air. “Cut them down right in front of me like they were animals. Do you deny it?” 

  
Arthur said nothing, his injured arm cradled protectively against his chest, and she sneered, her usual kindly demeanour subsumed by grief and hatred.

  
“Nothing to say to me, Highness? I’ve waited five years for the day that I would finally avenge my family and end your poisonous bloodline for good, and now my time has come. But first I want to hear you beg.” 

  
She raised her hand. Merlin pushed away from the wall, frantic now, the hair on the back of his arms and neck rising at the feel of so much power. “Stop,” he cried desperately. “Stop it! Arthur has done _nothing_ to you—”

  
“Be quiet, Merlin,” Arthur snapped, and Merlin cut himself off, startled. The prince was looking at Mistress Maddy with blazing eyes, but there was no confusion and no fear in his expression. He almost looked as though he felt guilty—as though he…understood what she was talking about? 

  
“I’m sorry,” Arthur continued, his voice softer, and Merlin’s blood seemed to curdle in his veins at the remorse he saw in Arthur's face. “That night…it should never have happened. It was my first proper raid, the first time my father had trusted me to lead a party of men. I told the soldiers to spare the innocents, to leave the women and children unharmed, but they—” He swallowed hard, and Merlin could picture all too well what they had done; had seen it already, in fact, in Mistress Maddy’s thoughts, the billowing smoke through the trees and the screams of terror. “It shouldn’t have happened,” Arthur repeated at last. “I lost control of my men—I should have stopped it, but I froze—”

  
“That’s not an excuse,” Mistress Maddy grated out, her teeth clenched. “You were their leader. You were responsible for what they did. My entire family—”

  
“I know.” To Merlin’s alarm, Arthur knelt in front of her, not taking his eyes off Mistress Maddy’s face. “And if this is what it takes to make amends, then so be it. But please…let my servant go.” 

  
“ _No_ ,” Merlin said. He wasn’t sure what he was reacting to—Arthur’s confession, or the murderous look in Mistress Maddy’s eyes—but either way suddenly he was moving again, diving for the sword that lay abandoned on the floor. He hit the ground, grasping for the hilt and found it, but before he could do more than turn it in Mistress Maddy’s direction she had slammed him back against the wall, holding him in place with her magic as she kicked the sword aside. 

  
“Emrys stays,” she said. Her eyes glowed gold as she glared at him, but her words were all for Arthur. “He, unlike you, happens to be important. But I can at least promise he’ll live a longer, happier life without you in it.” 

  
The tower door stood open just a few feet from where Merlin lay; if he craned his neck, he could see the tops of the trees and a smudge of late afternoon sky beyond, so close that he could almost taste it—but he couldn’t move. Could hardly breathe, too caught between the twin horrors of Arthur’s guilt and Arthur’s death to do more than grope for some way out. 

  
“Do you think his father will ever stop killing sorcerers if you kill his son?” he blurted, stopping Mistress Maddy just as she raised her hand once more. “He won’t. He’ll tear this kingdom apart to take his revenge on you, and what happens then?” 

  
“Let him try,” said Mistress Maddy, lifting her chin. “If I fall, there will be others who will take my place. We won’t stop until the True King rules all of Albion.” 

  
“But don’t you see?” Merlin struggled against the spell that bound him in place, but it held him fast. “If you’re willing to kill Arthur, and to let who knows how many innocents die for the sake of your vengeance, how does that make you any different from Uther?” 

  
The hedgewitch was silent. Merlin felt the shift in her mood like a change in the weather, the pressure that filled the tiny cabin making his ears pop.

  
“You would have me forgive him?” she said at last. “Despite knowing what he did?”

  
“I would have you show mercy,” Merlin corrected. Was he actually getting through to her? “What Arthur did that night was wrong, but he is not responsible for the actions of others. Allow him the opportunity to atone for his mistakes—to prove that he is capable of change.” 

  
“I see.” For just a moment, Mistress Maddy looked sad. Defeated. Then her face hardened again, and Merlin felt his instincts scream, his magic sparking a warning inside him. “Then you have made your choice.” 

  
The pain, when it struck him, was excruciating, the more so because Merlin had no time to brace for it. Mistress Maddy wielded her power with the same expertise as a fisherman wielding a filleting knife, letting it slide inside him and carve out his insides as though he were a fish ready to be gutted. Merlin could do nothing to stop her, his weakened magic slipping out of his grasp whenever he tried to take hold of it, and he flopped there uselessly as she leaned over him, gasping for air, purple and coral blotches dancing in front of his eyes.

  
“You betrayed us,” Mistress Maddy hissed. “You chose him over everything, over your _own kind_ , and now—”

  
She stopped. The pain stopped also, or he thought it did; his body was ringing with aftershocks, nerves jangling as though in echo, so he couldn’t be sure. Mistress Maddy made a strange sound in the back of her throat and turned away from him, disappearing from Merlin’s vision as his eyes slipped closed.

  
“Merlin. _Merlin_.” Familiar hands caught him up, a gentle palm cupping his face. “Hey. Stay with me.”

  
“What…?” Merlin mumbled. He forced his eyelids open with an effort, squinting up into Arthur’s chalk-white face. “Arthur? What happened?” 

  
Arthur only shook his head, something like regret weighing down the corners of his mouth. There was blood on his face, Merlin saw now, and he reached up a hand to touch it, but Arthur caught his wrist before his fingers made contact.

  
“Can you walk?” he asked. It seemed like an odd question to ask; of course he could walk; the pain had stopped and he was fine, he was—

  
Well. His legs felt a bit like overcooked cabbage, but they were still attached, and the wolf bite on his calf was hardly throbbing at all. “I guess so,” he said cautiously. “Where are we going?”

  
“Away from here,” Arthur said, terse. He wrapped one of Merlin’s arms around his shoulders and dragged him to his feet, tucking Merlin close against his side to take his weight. “Come on. We don’t want to be here when the guards come round.” 

+

Merlin’s legs began to cooperate more and more as they moved, though he still relied heavily on Arthur for support—partly because he was running out of energy and partly because, well. It felt...nice, to know that Arthur was there and would hold him up, even at the cost of slowing them down. They had only just reached the river at the bottom of the hill when they heard the unmistakeable bellow of a hunting horn behind them—the guards in the tower signalling for reinforcements.

  
“It won’t take them long to find our trail,” Arthur said, gritting the words out between his teeth as he hoisted Merlin upright once again. “Can you go faster? Use your magic? Anything?” 

  
Merlin shook his head. “I’m tapped out,” he said, making a helpless gesture with his free hand. “Mistress Maddy—she was dosing me with henbane to keep my magic dormant. I’m lucky I was able to use it for as long as I did.” 

  
Arthur’s mouth went tight, but he nodded. “All right. We can’t be too far from the citadel, now—I thought I could see the spires from the tower window. If we can make it there before they catch us, we should be safe.” 

  
“How?” Merlin asked bluntly. He was nearing the end of his rope, and Arthur didn’t look much better. “We can’t outrun them. And if they have dogs, or magic…”

  
“I have an idea,” Arthur said, and for once, when Merlin met his eyes he was smiling—the kind of reckless, devil-may-care smile that made Merlin’s stomach tighten even as his chest filled with nervous butterflies. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.” 

  
“Why?”

  
Arthur’s smirk widened. Before Merlin could figure out what was going on, he was being swept off his feet and hoisted over the bank as Arthur dropped him unceremoniously into the water below. “Because we’re going to have to swim.” 


	21. Burn, Baby, Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #22: Campfire / Chef [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
> Yes, I'm skipping over Day #21, but fear not! There will indeed be bedsharing in the near future! I decided to do the next few prompts out of order because ~~I wanted more time to finish the art~~ it made more sense for the story, but I'm a completionist so they will all be posted eventually. 
> 
> This is also incidentally where we may start to wade (ha) into Mature or possibly even Explicit territory. Just FYI ;)

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/632871372725551104/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-22-campfire-by) ]

“I hate you,” Merlin said.

  
“Mm.”

  
“I’m serious. I should have let them murder you and saved myself the trouble.” 

  
“But then who would you get to rescue you next time you almost drown in four feet of water?” Arthur asked. Merlin raised his head from where he lay spread-eagled on the riverbank and glared at him, but the prince only smirked, unrepentant. “I’m your king, you said, so I’m afraid that means you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future.” 

  
“Shut up.” Merlin dropped back onto the grass and covered his face with one arm. “I take it back, _Your Highness_. I could never pledge fealty to a king as infuriating as you.” 

  
Arthur made an amused noise and sat down on the grass beside him, stretching his legs out the better to catch the last rays of the afternoon sun. He had hauled Merlin out of the water far enough downstream that they thought—hoped—Mistress Maddy’s guards wouldn’t be able to find them, and close enough to the citadel that they should be able to reach it the following day, all going well. Merlin didn’t know whether he quite trusted things to go well, especially since he was currently soaked to the skin, starving, and completely lacking in food or fresh clothes, but at least he had Arthur, and moreover an Arthur who didn’t seem to hate him, which was saying a lot considering everything they’d been through.

  
The prince nudged him with one foot, and when Merlin removed his arm to peer up at him, his expression had shifted away from teasing towards something more serious. 

  
“I understand why you didn’t tell me, you know,” he said, and Merlin’s breath caught in this throat, because apparently they were talking about this now, here, never mind the fact that he was wet and woefully underprepared. “I haven’t exactly done a lot to earn your trust, at least when it comes to magic. But I hope you’ve figured out by now that I think of you as…as a friend, more than as a servant. And I would be honoured to have you as my subject, if you think you can forgive me for all my faults.” 

  
Merlin swallowed hard. That look on Arthur’s face was one he usually tried to pretend he didn’t see, because wanting Arthur and wanting to keep his magic secret from Arthur were two mutually incompatible things, and he knew he would never be able to act on one without confessing to the other. But Arthur knew about his magic now, and that was almost as disarming as Arthur’s soft little half smile, the way he cocked his head, the playful note in his voice that was belied by the uncertainty in his eyes. 

  
“What happened to ‘I can’t be seen buying drinks for my servant’?” Merlin said, taking refuge in a joke as his heart fluttered wildly. “I thought you royals would never lower yourselves to socialise with us common folk.”

  
“A _prince_ wouldn’t,” Arthur said, with a slight emphasis on the title. “But a king and a sorcerer…”

  
He let the sentence hang, and Merlin’s voice dried up entirely as he realised what Arthur was implying. The only way Merlin could ever stand openly at Arthur’s side as a sorcerer was if he lifted the ban on magic. And the only way Arthur would lift the ban on magic was if he truly believed it wasn’t evil, and that allowing sorcery to return would be in the best interests of his kingdom. 

  
“Do you mean it?” he asked hoarsely, sitting up straight. “You’d really—”

  
“Atone for my mistakes, you said,” Arthur said, and this time the smile spread to the other side of his mouth as well, leaving dimples. “I think that might be a good first step, don't you? Although I won’t be able to implement it for a while. And since you are supposed to be the most powerful sorcerer who ever lived and everything…what do you say to becoming my first Court Sorcerer?” 

  
This time, when Merlin flung his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, the prince was quick to respond in kind, only to pull back again with a wince as the movement jarred his injured arm. 

  
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” he said, ignoring Merlin’s attempt at an apology. He brushed the wet hair out of Merlin’s eyes and made a face. “In which case, as my official unofficial Mage of the Court, do you think you can conjure us up some dry clothes?” 

+

Merlin’s magic was still unresponsive, however, which meant they were reduced to building a campfire in the normal way, both of them stripping down to their underthings the better to let their clothing dry. Merlin did his best not to sneak glances at Arthur as he did so; it was habit, by now, to keep his eyes to himself, but that didn’t mean the temptation wasn’t there, a persistent nudge of curiosity at the corner of his thoughts. It was all the more unbearable now that Arthur knew and hadn’t turned away from him; had offered, in fact, what amounted to a partnership between them, which perhaps meant that if Merlin should—then Arthur might—

  
He carefully seated himself at the far end of the fallen log Arthur was sitting on, equidistant from the fire in the centre. The prince had managed to catch some fish while Merlin collected firewood—“See, Merlin, some of us can do it without falling in!”—and had set them over the flames to cook, but he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the spit, staring instead into the middle distance while the meat blackened slowly in front of him. Arthur was an indifferent chef at the best of times, but it wasn’t like him to let good food go to waste. 

  
“Arthur?” Merlin took the meal off the fire before it became inedible, then had to poke Arthur in the ribs to get him to accept his portion. “Everything all right?” 

  
Arthur blinked at him, then seemed to rouse himself. “Fine,” he said, taking the fish. “Just thinking.” 

  
“About?” Merlin prompted. He thought perhaps he could guess—the sight of the fire had stirred up some unpleasant memories for him as well, although his were mostly second-hand. When Arthur didn’t answer, however, he tried a different tactic. “Is your shoulder hurting?” 

  
“Not really.” As if to demonstrate the truth of this, Arthur rotated his shoulder for Merlin to see, inadvertently drawing Merlin’s attention to the dip of his collarbones now visible beneath his shirt. “It was a bit numb for a while, but the water seemed to help. Now it mostly just feels bruised.” 

  
Merlin nodded, making a mental note to see if he could do something about that in the morning, or whenever his magic saw fit to return. He had never been very good at healing magic, but he should at least be able to help it along a little. 

  
“What’s the matter, then?” He took his place again a little closer to Arthur, near enough to be in poking range if the prince’s thoughts drifted off again. “Pining for your tower? I’m sure I could find a knight or two around here somewhere, if you want to go back to playing the damsel in distress.” 

  
That, finally, provoked a response, even if it was accompanied by a narrow-eyed glare. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur said. “I am not and have never been a damsel, in distress or otherwise. But if you must know, I was thinking about Mistress Maddy.” 

  
“Oh.” Merlin sobered. Arthur hadn’t told him in so many words what had happened to her in the end, but the fact that he’d been grim-faced and covered in blood when they left the tower didn’t leave much to the imagination. “What about her?” 

  
Arthur shrugged one shoulder. “I was just thinking it was a pity she had to die.” 

  
“Really?” That surprised him. “She was trying to kill us, you know. I kind of feel like she had it coming.” 

  
“Maybe. But she also had a point.” Arthur looked away, and after a moment he said, “That night…When I got back to Camelot, my father praised me for my initiative. Said he thought I’d grow up to be a fine king if I was going to be so vigilant about protecting my people. It was one of the few times he told me he was proud of me.” His mouth twisted, and Merlin’s heart ached at the look on his face. “I had nightmares about it for weeks, but I didn’t dare tell anyone.” 

  
“Is that why you helped the Druid boy?”

  
“Partly. But partly also because I wasn’t about to watch another child get beheaded if I could stop it.” He kicked his heels into the dirt, gouging out two round divots in the soft earth. His hair was drying in fluffy golden strands over his forehead, his clothes streaked with mud and grime and still damp with river water, but to Merlin at least he had never looked more like a king. “If I had only been braver that night, none of this would have happened.” 

  
“Arthur…” Merlin wanted to reach for him, but they were still too far apart, and in any case they’d already hugged twice today, and a third time might be pushing it. He tried to find the right words to cross the distance instead. “There's nothing I can say that would make what happened all right, and it’s not my place to forgive you for what you did—only the people you wronged can do that. But when you’re king—” A day that couldn’t come soon enough, in Merlin’s opinion, “—I promise I’ll help you do whatever you can to make amends. All right? But until then, as your official unofficial Court Sorcerer, I absolutely forbid you from beating yourself up about this. Understood?” 

  
Arthur snorted. “I’m not sure you fully understand the limits of that position,” he said, but when Merlin just raised an eyebrow at him, he sighed, shoulders slumping as if giving in. “Fine. I won’t indulge my guilty conscience any more than absolutely necessary. Satisfied?” 

  
Merlin wasn't, but he let the matter slide, and they went back to their meal in companionable silence. The fish was growing cold by this time, but Merlin was hungry enough not to care, and it would have been a pleasant way to spend an evening if it weren't for the chill breeze that started up, or the fact that the back of his shirt was still a little wet out of range of the fire. He wasn’t even aware that he was shivering until Arthur let out an exasperated huff and got to his feet. 

  
“Come here, idiot.” He unhooked Merlin’s old blue travelling cloak—and just _how_ had he managed to keep hold of it?—from one of the tree branches and sat down next to him, wrapping the cloak around both of their shoulders. “You’d freeze to death in July, I swear. Are you part reptile?” 

  
“Just blessed with naturally poor circulation,” Merlin said, and if the sudden flush of warmth that swept through him had less to do with the cloak than it did with Arthur’s arm pressed against his own, well. No one else ever had to know. 


	22. A Real Bodice-Ripper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #23: Torn / Rip [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/632929618188451840/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-23-torn-by) ]

Merlin didn’t actually intend to fall asleep, but given that he _had_ just been tortured and deprived of his magic and also nearly drowned— _thank_ you, Arthur—he supposed it had to catch up with him eventually. He dozed with his head on Arthur’s shoulder, only peripherally aware of the warmth that surrounded him, and when he woke up again some time later it was to the feeling of Arthur’s fingers carding through his hair. 

  
“You should rest,” Arthur said, without looking at him. “I can keep watch.” 

  
“Hm.” Merlin didn’t move, afraid that drawing any more of Arthur’s attention might make him realise what he was doing and stop touching him. Something soft and feathery had come to life inside his chest, as if a small bird inside his ribcage was even now gathering straws of hope to feather a long neglected nest, and he didn't want to disturb it. “You need to sleep, too. They won’t catch up with us tonight, surely?” 

  
“I don’t want to take the risk,” Arthur admitted. His fingers stopped moving, tightening momentarily against Merlin’s scalp before dropping away, and Merlin tipped his head back a little to look at him. “If anything...I mean." He swallowed. "When I was stuck up in that tower, all I could think about was how stupid it would be if you died before I even got the chance to say thank you.” 

  
“You still haven’t,” Merlin pointed out, earning the ghost of a grin.

  
“No,” Arthur agreed. “But that’s because there’s something else I wanted to say instead.” 

  
He didn’t actually specify what that was—but then, he didn’t need to. The words were already there, burgeoning in the stillness between them; in the way his eyes searched Merlin’s face as though for confirmation; and they were there every single time Arthur had saved his life or smiled at him or called him an idiot, to the point where actually bothering with speech seemed almost redundant. Merlin let out his breath, his shoulders slumping in something like relief, and the little bird settled at home to roost just below his heart.

  
“Me too,” he whispered, finally meeting Arthur’s gaze. “Arthur, me too.”

+

It was Arthur who moved first—or maybe Merlin did; it was hard to tell. Arthur grabbed a fistful of Merlin’s shirt and Merlin scrabbled to grab hold of Arthur’s knees and it was awkward and urgent and would probably end with Merlin’s tunic getting torn, but he didn’t care. Arthur’s mouth—oh, Arthur’s mouth was softer than he’d imagined, Arthur’s fingers at his cheek and then back in his hair the only proper place for them, and Merlin only laughed a little bit when he heard the collar of his undershirt rip audibly under the prince's hands. 

  
“Hiding—bloody magic in _Camelot_ ,” Arthur said, between kisses. “Chased by assassins. Kidnapped by a bloody _cult_. How have you managed to survive this long?” 

  
“You’re one to talk.” Merlin kissed him back, biting down on Arthur’s lower lip when the prince made a disgruntled sound. “Wait until I tell you about all the times I’ve had to save your life—”

  
“No,” Arthur interrupted. “No, I don’t want to hear about them, because if I do, I might change my mind about bringing you back to Camelot.” His lips found Merlin’s throat, his chin, the corner of his mouth, and there was something almost desperate about it, about the way he seemed determined to touch all of Merlin all at once, as if he thought Merlin would somehow vanish again the moment he paused for breath.

  
“Hey,” Merlin said, dizzy under the onslaught. “Hey, Arthur, slow down.” 

  
He wrapped a hand around Arthur’s nape and felt the prince shudder, but he slowed obediently at Merlin’s request, pulling back just far enough to rest their foreheads together. 

  
“Merlin,” he murmured, his eyes closing. “Merlin, I—”

  
A twig snapped in the underbrush behind them. This time, Arthur was definitely the one who moved first, swinging his legs over the log and lurching upright with his sword in his hand almost before Merlin had registered the sound.

  
“Who’s there?” he demanded, and Merlin turned to follow him, his whole body tense. “Show yourself.” 

  
Nobody answered, but a few moments later there was a rustling in the bushes, and a familiar orange and white head emerged, followed by a sleek and equally familiar feline body.

  
“Goblin!” Merlin said, astonished. “What are you doing here?”

  
The cat ignored him, trotting past the log where they had been sitting and heading straight for the remnants of their dinner, now little more than a discarded heap of scraps beside the fire. After sniffing them over thoroughly and coming to the conclusion that there was nothing there worth eating, Goblin turned big golden eyes on Merlin and meowed plaintively, for all the world as though reproaching him for not having a proper supper prepared. 

  
Merlin burst out laughing. 

  
“I think I’ve been adopted,” he said, holding out his hand for the cat to sniff. It twitched its whiskers warily for a moment, then rubbed a furry cheek against his fingers with a soft _prrp_. “He must have followed me all the way from Mistress Maddy’s cottage.” 

  
“That’s what worries me,” Arthur muttered. He had sheathed his sword again once there proved to be no threat, but his hand still hovered near the hilt, and he turned his head to scan the tree-line with narrowed eyes. “Do you think it’s safe?” 

  
Merlin was about to scoff at this display of paranoia, then remembered the wolf-slash-assassin and reconsidered. “I can’t tell for sure without my magic,” he admitted finally. “But Goblin did end up helping me when I was trapped, before I figured out what was going on. I thought it was a coincidence at the time, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye.” 

  
Goblin—who may or may not have been listening to this conversation—chose that precise moment to wind his way around Merlin’s ankles, purring so loudly he couldn’t help but smile in response, and a moment later Merlin was treated to the singularly unique experience of seeing Camelot’s Crown Prince look jealous of a cat. 

  
“All right, fine,” Arthur said grudgingly, and perhaps it was all the kissing they’d been doing but Merlin was almost certain that he was pouting. “I suppose you might as well keep it, then.” He paused, then slanted a look in Goblin's direction. “But if that creature puts a single claw out of line…”

  
“Understood,” Merlin said hastily. Goblin’s tail was twitching, and he didn’t think this was a good time to test whether the cat did in fact understand human speech. “I’m sure he won’t be a problem. Will you, Goblin?” 

  
A haughty yellow stare was all that answered him, but Merlin chose to believe that the cat agreed. 


	23. Clear as Crystal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #24: Crystal Cave / Dig [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/633025580730925056/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-24-crystal-cave) ]

The arrival of Mistress Maddy’s cat, magical or otherwise, was not particularly conducive to romance, and the mood had been well and truly broken by the time Goblin settled down in front of the fire. Merlin pushed aside his disappointment. There were larger concerns at play here than his relationship with Arthur, including making sure they were rested enough to beat their pursuers to the citadel the following day. They had to survive the journey first, and after that—

  
After that, he and Arthur would have plenty of time to finish what they’d started, and perhaps find some new things to begin along the way.

  
With that pleasant thought in mind, Merlin gathered up the rest of their clothes from the branches where they’d been hanging and fashioned a sort of bed for himself, using his cloak as a blanket. Across from him, Arthur had returned to his seat on the log, sword on his lap, Goblin sitting in front of him like a furry sentinel. It was strange, Goblin showing up like that. It was a long journey for a house cat, especially one that was clearly used to being well cared for, and even leaving aside the question of how it had managed to track them down to begin with, Merlin couldn’t imagine _why_ the creature would have chosen to come after them. It wasn’t as if the they had bonded during Merlin’s time in captivity, or even spent much time together at all, really; Goblin had always been with Mistress Maddy, or doing whatever it was cats did when humans weren’t watching them. There was something pleasing about having been granted that unexpected trust—as if he had somehow been judged worthy for reasons he had yet to understand—and yet, it was odd…

  
Eventually, Merlin slept. And as he slept, he dreamed.

  
He was following Goblin down into the earth through a narrow tunnel, its rocky walls so narrow that they brushed against his shoulders as he walked. They had obviously been hewn with magic; no human hands could dig so deeply or so cleanly through solid stone, and though there was no obvious source of light the way ahead was clearly visible, awash with an unearthly blue glow that made the hair on the back of Merlin’s neck stand on end. There was magic here—Merlin could feel it, like drawing close to a fire when he hadn’t even realised he was cold, and it beckoned to him.

  
“Ah, Emrys,” said a voice, and Merlin jumped. “There you are.” 

  
When Merlin looked again, Goblin had vanished, and he was standing inside a broad cavern that stretched on into the distance, disappearing into the bowels of the earth. The walls of the cavern glittered and shifted around him as though alive, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to what he was seeing: crystals clung to every surface, reflecting and refracting one another like an infinite hall of mirrors, each of them vibrating with radiant life. 

  
“Who are you?” Merlin asked, although he couldn’t see anyone. “Where am I?”

  
“My name is Taliesin,” said the voice, and suddenly an old man was standing in front of him, watching Merlin calmly as if he had been there all along. “I am the keeper of the Crystal Cave, the place where magic began.” 

  
“The place where magic began?” Merlin echoed, startled. “But—how did I get here? I was—with Arthur…”

  
As he spoke Arthur’s name, the crystals around him flashed and changed, and suddenly he was looking at a thousand reflected images of Arthur’s face—Arthur seated on the fallen tree, keeping guard over a sleeping Merlin; Arthur kissing him with naked fervour, his hands in Merlin’s hair; Arthur, older, sitting on the throne of Camelot and wearing his father’s crown. Merlin felt a shiver of recognition run through him, bone deep, along with a sudden frisson of fear.

  
“What is this place?” he whispered. “What do you mean, the place where magic began?”

  
“The Crystal Cave is not a place, young warlock,” said the old man, smiling. The skin around his amber eyes crinkled. “Or rather—it is not a place that exists on the physical plane. The crystal cave is the wellspring of your power, here for you to draw on when you have need of it.”

  
“Oh.” Merlin blinked. “So it’s…inside my head?”

  
“In a manner of speaking.” The man—Taliesin—made a so-so gesture with one hand. “Try not to think about it too much. The specifics don’t matter, and they are probably beyond the limits of your comprehension in any case. What matters is that you are where you need to be.”

  
There was an insult buried in there somewhere, but Merlin chose to ignore it. “Why am I here?” 

  
“For the same reason that we all come here,” Taliesin said. “You are here to reconnect with something you lost. Your familiar will guide you. You are also,” he added, holding up a hand when Merlin started to ask him, _what familiar_ , “here because you made a choice; a choice that will affect not just your future but the future of all of Albion. Do you understand what I mean?”

  
“I think so,” Merlin said slowly. “I told Arthur about my magic.”

  
“Yes. But you also marked him as the Once and Future King.”

  
“But I thought—”

  
“The future is not written, Emrys. It is only made. It is our choices, more than anything, which guide our Destiny’s path.” 

  
Merlin digested this. Did that mean Mistress Maddy had been right? That there was someone else who could have fulfilled the prophecy? He opened his mouth to ask, but the old man was already moving on again, picking up a broken piece of crystal and pressing it into Merlin’s hands. 

  
“You will have need of this,” he said. The stone was smooth and warm to the touch, filled with a pulsing golden light that made Merlin’s eyes hurt when he looked at it straight on. His hands closed around it instinctively, and around him the walls of the cave began to tremble as though seized by a sudden quake. “Be careful. Not everything you See is meant to be trusted.” 

  
“What does that mean?” Merlin demanded. Was it in the nature of all magical beings to speak in riddles, or did they just enjoy infuriating people? “Taliesin? What do you mean by—?”

  
But the old man was already gone. 


	24. The Table Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #25: Round Table / Buddy [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
> Forgive the length of this chapter (or rather, the lack thereof). We're into the home stretch now and I'm trying to catch up before the end of the month, but I will hopefully have another, more substantial chapter to post this evening <3

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/633071106030518272/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-25-round-table-by) ]

The crystal cave had begun to disintegrate around him, its walls shuddering as the dream collapsed in on itself. Merlin turned back to leave the way he had come, only to find that the entrance had closed over as if it had never been, leaving only a sheer rock face behind it. No way out. If this was all happening inside his head, he should be able to wake up now, shouldn’t he? Why wasn’t he waking up?

  
Shards of crystal had begun to fall from the ceiling, shattering on the stone floor beneath him and slicing into his unprotected hands and feet. Instead of blood, however, bright light spilled out, and fragments of possibility lodged themselves under his skin. Here, Arthur was killing his father. There, Merlin was killing Morgana. Here, Arthur got married to Gwen. There, Arthur was marrying Merlin. He saw himself walking down empty castle corridors, touching faded tapestries on the long-abandoned walls; a round table, etched with the names of the dead. Past and future swirled around him, branching off in all directions like the roots of a tree, and Merlin had no idea which way to turn until he saw Goblin again, bounding ahead of him, and remembered what Taliesin had said. _Your familiar will guide you._

  
“Wait!” he called, but Goblin didn’t wait, so Merlin was forced to run after him, dodging the falling crystals as he went. “Wait, come back—!”

  
He woke up.


	25. The Lion's Share

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #21: Bedsharing / Sleep [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
> I did have something more elaborate planned for today's pic, but a) I'm tired and b) I'm really tired, so. I'll have to finish/post that pic another day. I hope this one will suffice in the meantime.

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/633122793917136896/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-21-bedsharing-by) ]

Merlin resurfaced from sleep as though from drowning, sitting bolt upright as he gasped for breath. At first, he thought it was only the strangeness of the dream that had awoken him, but as soon as he opened his eyes he realised it was more than that; the world was glowing, the shadowy trees doubling and redoubling in front of him as though several different forests had been superimposed on one another all at once.

  
His magic was back. _All_ of his magic was back, and the effect was a bit like trying to cram three whole blueberry scones into his mouth at the same time—it didn't _fit_.

  
“Merlin? What is it? What’s wrong?” Hands on his shoulders. Did he have shoulders? He turned blindly and felt-saw a man’s face, wide-eyed and startled in his field of vision. But he also saw through the man, into the magic-wrought heart of him, and out the other side to all the men he could-would-might-should be all at once.

  
“Arthur?” His voice sounded thready; distant. “I think there’s something—”

  
Cool hands on his face. Had he been burning? “Look at me,” Arthur commanded, and for once Merlin did as he was told, turning his eyes-not-eyes in Arthur’s direction the way a drowning man might seize upon a spar of wood. “What do you need?”

  
Already, the rush of power was beginning to ebb. Arthur’s presence helped, grounding him somehow, bringing the present into sharper focus. Merlin took a deep breath, and then another, regaining command of himself enough to reach up and grab hold of Arthur’s wrist. “Don’t let go,” he croaked. 

  
Arthur didn’t. He had to have been afraid— _Merlin_ was afraid—but he pressed closer anyway, bundling Merlin into his lap and wrapping his arms around him. Merlin buried his face in Arthur’s neck, closing his eyes as he waited for the tidal pull of his magic to recede, and felt the power spill outward and through him, healing Arthur’s injuries as if in afterthought as it drained into the earth.

+

A long time later, Merlin became aware that Arthur’s fingers were digging into his back. The stone from his dream was still in his hand, heavy and sharp-edged, and he was holding it so tightly it felt as though his fingers had locked in that position. It hurt. A lot of him hurt, actually, the same way your foot might hurt after sitting on it for too long—pins and needles all over. He shifted his weight, settling back a little on Arthur’s thighs as he raised his head to breathe. 

  
Arthur’s grip tightened. “Merlin?”

  
“Present,” Merlin said. Experimentally, he uncurled his fingers, and found that the crystal he had been gripping was now dormant, its golden glow all but vanished. It looked like any other piece of polished stone now, and he gingerly set it down on the grass, deciding he would wait a while before touching it again. Just in case.

  
“What just happened?”

  
Arthur was watching him warily, and Merlin winced, only too aware of what this must have looked like from his perspective. “I think it was meant to be a gift.” 

  
That made Arthur snort. “Some gift,” he said. “And—your eyes are glowing.”

  
“Are they?” Merlin reached up to feel his face, as if he could tell the colour of his eyes by touch. He blinked a few times. Everything seemed normal enough, but Arthur was still staring at him intently, and Merlin felt a flush of embarrassment heat his cheeks even though, technically, this was Mistress Maddy’s fault.

  
“The henbane wore off,” he said, by way of explanation. “Before, it was just a little bit of magic at a time, like water leaking through the cracks in a dam; but now—” He spread his fingers to mimic the dam bursting. “I don’t usually…I mean…it was just a bit much. For a moment. I’m fine now.” 

  
“Just how powerful _are_ you,” Arthur said. It wasn’t quite a question, though, so Merlin didn’t answer. The only real response he could give was ‘I have no idea,’ and Arthur already looked spooked enough.

  
“It’s fine,” he repeated, and to demonstrate he stretched out a hand to revive the fire, which had been burning low. The resulting conflagration was more like a raging inferno than the sedate blaze he had intended, and there may or may not have been several smaller fires that he had to put out again afterwards, but the point was that his magic was working again. Finally.

  
“Yes,” Arthur said, dry. “I can see that you have everything under control.” 

  
“Shut up.”

  
It was nearly dawn. A smudge of grey lit the sky above them, and Merlin was suddenly, viscerally aware that he was sitting in Arthur’s lap, arms and legs tangled together, Arthur’s arms still wrapped around his waist. It should have been awkward—it _was_ awkward—but it was also…nice. To have Arthur here, and alive, and holding him, close enough that Merlin could, if he wanted, lean forward and kiss him.

  
He did want. Arthur kissed him back, slow and sensual but no less eager than before, and the smile on his mouth somehow transferred itself to Merlin’s as he murmured, “Is the cat watching?” 

  
“The cat’s asleep,” Merlin said, and they were definitely going to have to revisit Arthur's grudge against Goblin later, especially since it seemed like the cat had definitely adopted him, possibly in some kind of magically-significant way, but right now Arthur’s hands were sliding up under his shirt and tugging it off over his head, and Merlin fumbled to do the same for him, his fingers clumsy in a way that made them feel brand new. Arthur waited patiently until he was done, then hooked Merlin’s chin with the tips of two fingers and caught his mouth again, and Merlin pushed him over onto the spread-out cloak and straddled him, watching the way Arthur’s eyes turned soft and heavy-lidded in the early morning light. 

  
"This isn't going to distract me, you know," he said, although the hitch in his voice said he very much _was_ distracted. "Sooner or later, you're going to have to tell me everything you can do—everything you've _been_ doing. Preferably before you get yourself arrested."

  
"I'm not going to get arrested," Merlin said, before wondering whether sleeping with the Crown Prince of Camelot was, in fact, an arrestable offence. Arthur had been talking about the magic, though, which definitely was, and Merlin had no plans of getting caught doing either one so it didn't matter. "I've managed so far, haven't I?"

  
"By the skin of your teeth," Arthur muttered, but Merlin kissed him again and he seemed to get the hint—or perhaps he decided it was a conversation best left for another day, as they neither of them spoke again for quite some time.


	26. Two Can Keep A Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #26: Secret / Hide [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
> ~~Hand kink? In _my_ fanart? It's more likely than you think!~~

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/633198403618324480/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-26-secret-by) ]

Eventually, of course, they had to get dressed, if only because they needed to make their way to Bayard’s castle. They cleaned one another up in the river at first, which lead to both of them getting dirty again; the second time, they opted to wash alone, and dressed on the bank in the late morning sunlight, each trying and failing not to steal glances at the other.

  
“We should reach the castle about midday,” Arthur said, leaving the _if all goes well_ pointedly unspoken. “I’ll go straight to Bayard and tell him about the Order. But…” He hesitated, and Merlin knew instinctively that he wasn’t going to like whatever came next. “You’ll need to keep a low profile while we're there. I know magic isn’t illegal here in Mercia, but if he finds out you’re a sorcerer it could get back to my father, and that could lead to problems back in Camelot.”

  
Merlin pursed his lips, but didn’t argue. He hadn’t forgotten, of course, that he was going to have to hide his magic again once they got back to civilisation; he’d just been trying not to think about it. 

  
“I understand,” he said. 

  
“Do you really?” Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Because the way your boots are playing hide-and-seek with Goblin right now makes me think otherwise.”

  
In answer, Merlin flicked a finger at him, and the shirt Arthur had been reaching for flopped off the tree branch and into his face. He yelped, taking a step backwards, and almost fell into the water again; only Merlin’s quick intervention kept him from another soaking. 

  
“It needs to be used,” Merlin said, while Arthur extricated himself from his tunic, glowering. “Not just in general, but especially now, when it’s so unsettled. Otherwise, it’ll just start spilling over on its own, and it’ll be tough trying to keep Bayard from finding out what I am if I accidentally turn his guards’ hair blue or make the serving bowls dance the can-can.”

  
“Is that likely?” Arthur asked, sounding alarmed. 

  
“Don’t worry.” Abandoning his game with the cat, Merlin went over to help Arthur with his laces, enjoying the spark of connection as their fingers brushed. “I told you—I’m very good at keeping secrets.” 

  
The look Arthur gave him kept him laughing all the way to the road. 


	27. If Music Be the Food of Love (Play On)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #27: Lute / Music [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ] 
> 
> Almost caught up, y'all! SO CLOSE...

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/633211412161888256/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-27-lute-by) ]

It was almost anticlimactic when they reached the castle without any further incident. Merlin kept a weather eye on the forest behind them, occasionally using his magic to clear a path through the brush or conjure some fruit down from the trees when it got to be too much, but if there was any sign of the Order of the White Ash, he didn’t see it. He stuck close to Arthur’s side, and when they passed through the castle gates he couldn’t help breathing a silent sigh of relief. They had made it, finally. They were going to be all right.

  
King Bayard was in a meeting when they arrived, and it took some convincing for the guards to send someone to fetch him. Apparently, it wasn’t often that wayward princes arrived in Mercia without baggage or retinue, and those that did usually weren’t quite so dirty or covered in twigs and grass stains. This last was Merlin’s fault entirely, but he refused to be repentant about it. He happened to think Arthur looked quite fetching on his back in the grass, and it wasn't his fault if he'd wanted to take advantage of the opportunity when they stopped for lunch.

  
“Listen,” Arthur said at last, tugging one of the rings from around his finger and holding it up impatiently. “Either I really am Arthur Pendragon, or I stole this ring from him and have come to demand a ransom; either way, your master needs to be informed immediately. Go on!” he added, when the man still hesitated. “He won’t thank you for the delay.”

  
At last, the guard left, taking the ring with him, and Merlin nudged Arthur in the shoulder.

  
“I can tell them you were locked in a tower for a week, if that helps,” he murmured, _sotto voce_. 

  
“Only if you want _me_ to lock _you_ in the stocks for a month,” Arthur replied in the same tone, and Merlin raised his eyebrows.

  
“I don’t know, that could be fun,” he said, and grinned when Arthur choked. His cheeks were still bright red when King Bayard strode into the courtyard a few minutes later, trailed by the same guard from before and wearing an irritated frown.

  
“What’s all this about a ransom?” he asked, before his eyes fell on Arthur. “Prince Arthur! We had all but given you up for lost.” 

  
“It’ll take more than a few bandits to stop me, sire,” Arthur said, bowing his head respectfully. “I apologise for my tardiness. We were waylaid on the road.”

  
“Yes—yes, I heard,” King Bayard said. Merlin watched him carefully, but he seemed to be genuinely pleased to see the prince safe and sound; perhaps he had been as worried about maintaining the peace treaty between Mercia and Camelot as Arthur was. “Your men arrived some time ago, and have ridden out every day since in search of you. I’m surprised you didn’t meet them on the road.” 

  
“It’s a long story, my lord,” Arthur said, warning Merlin to silence with half a glance in his direction. “And I will be happy to explain my absence in more detail, but first—may we have your leave to bathe and change into some fresh clothes? It’s been a long few days.” 

  
“Of course, yes, by all means.” King Bayard stood back to usher them inside. “I’ll have everything prepared for you, and you can rest while I have a messenger sent out to recall your men. This evening will be soon enough to tell me about your travels.” 

+

The return to normalcy was jarring after so long on the road, but that wasn’t to say it was unwelcome. One of King Bayard’s servants took Goblin to the kitchens, where he was promised a veritable feast of milk and offcuts, while another showed Merlin and Arthur to the guest chambers, inviting them to make themselves at home while fresh clothes and steaming hot bathwater were brought up for them. 

  
When at last they were left alone, Merlin looked around their rooms with undisguised appreciation. A cheerful fire blazed in the hearth, and there were thick rugs and furs on the floor to take the edge off the chill. There was even a lute in one corner in case one of them felt the need for music, and a bowl of fresh fruit sat in the centre of the table, a luxury of castle life that Merlin hadn’t even realised he had missed until now. 

  
And then, of course, there was the bed. 

  
In theory, Merlin was supposed to sleep on a pallet in the alcove, something that any other manservant would have asked for or even anticipated. But Merlin’s gaze kept being drawn back to the great, four-poster bed in the middle of the room, with its soft linen sheets and velvet curtains, and he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to sleep in it instead, to wake up next to Arthur in the morning and feel the warmth of him at his back as he started the day.

  
The two of them had yet to actually discuss the future of their relationship. They hadn’t discussed much of anything, now that Merlin thought about it, beyond the need to get to the citadel and speak to the king as soon as possible, and in none of Merlin’s visions of the two of them together had he ever seen how they managed to get to that point. It could be that Arthur had no intention of pursuing anything further with him now that they were back where they were supposed to be as master and servant; what had happened between them on the road could easily be written off as temporary insanity, or a product of relief and adrenaline and the outcome of sheer proximity. Certainly, Arthur had hinted at his feelings more than once—but Merlin had only _assumed_ he knew what the prince was going to say that night in the woods; there was always the possibility that he had been mistaken…

  
He heard the latch to the door fall shut, and Arthur stepped up beside him.

  
“Did you know that your forehead wrinkles in a very specific way when you’re worried about something?” he asked, conversationally. He reached out and flicked Merlin between the eyebrows, startling a sudden laugh out of him. “Relax. No one is going to attack us here.” 

  
“You don’t know that,” Merlin said. “You didn’t think anyone would attack us in that cottage, either, and look how that turned out.” 

  
“That was different.” Arthur padded across the room and took a handful of grapes from the table, popping one of them into his mouth. “I didn’t have the luxury of being suspicious when you needed help—although obviously I regretted the decision afterwards.”

  
Merlin opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He had known, of course, that Arthur would and had gone to great lengths to protect him—not just over the past few days, but before that, too, in the Labyrinth of Gedref and after Nimueh’s poison. But he had never thought he’d ever hear the prince acknowledge the fact out loud.

  
“I’m touched,” he said finally, and tried to pretend he didn’t hear it when the lute in the corner broke into a spontaneous glissando. “You really _do_ care.” 

  
“Shut up.” But Arthur’s cheeks were pink as he threw a grape in Merlin’s direction. “If you haven’t figured that out by now, there’s no help for you.”


	28. Float Like a Butterfly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #28: Butterfly / Float [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/633362689368965120/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-28-butterfly-by) ]

They didn’t speak while the bath was being filled, or afterwards as Merlin helped Arthur to undress. It was only a commonplace task, one that Merlin had already performed countless times before, but there was a tension to it now that made everything different. Merlin could feel it every time his fingers brushed Arthur’s skin, warm beneath his touch, the horripilation of gooseflesh over Arthur’s chest as Merlin removed his shirt. He could feel it building in his gut, a string being pulled to breaking point, and yet it still came as a surprise when Arthur caught his arm before he could leave and gestured to the bath.

  
“You, too,” he said.

  
“What—with you?” Merlin said stupidly. 

  
“Unless you’d rather I call one of the servants back to join you,” Arthur said, arching an eyebrow. “In which case, I’ll leave you to it. I don’t share,” he added, and there was a darker note in his voice that was already familiar enough to make Merlin shiver. He disrobed without any further comment, aware as he did so of the thrum of his pulse at his throat, his magic buzzing under his skin like a second heartbeat. It felt so much more real, now that they were here; as if they were crossing some kind of threshold from which there was no turning back. He studied Arthur's face, and beneath the assumed haughtiness could see a hint of the same uncertainty that fluttered in his own belly, the lurking fear of making a mistake.

  
“You first,” he said, when he was naked, and Arthur stepped into the water, wincing as he felt the temperature. Merlin reached out to touch the side of the bath, changing it effortlessly, and when he looked up, Arthur was watching him.

  
“That’s very useful,” the prince said, tilting his head. “What else can you do?” 

  
“You want to talk about this _now_?” Merlin asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He was starting to feel like perhaps he had been tricked. “This could take all night.” 

  
“Just give me the condensed version, then,” Arthur said, settling into the water with a crooked smile on his lips. “And get in here before you catch a chill.” 

  
Still scowling, Merlin did as he was instructed, settling himself between Arthur’s legs with his back against Arthur’s chest. It was easier, somehow, like this; Arthur sluiced water down his back with both hands and let him talk, and by the time Merlin was scrubbed clean he had managed to cover most of the highlights—all the times he’d nearly been caught in Ealdor, the flight to Camelot, the frustration and confusion he’d felt when he’d learned of his destiny. Arthur snorted when Merlin got to the part about thinking he was too much of a prat to be the Once and Future King.

  
“So what changed your mind?” he asked, hooking his chin over Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin grinned.

  
“Who says I’ve changed my mind?” he said. “You’re definitely still a prat.”

  
“Idiot.” 

  
“Takes one to know one,” Merlin quipped, and Arthur laughed. “But, I mean. I think it was when you believed me about Knight Valiant. Gaius told me that no one would take my word for it, because I was just a servant, but you—”

  
“I fired you, though,” Arthur objected. “I was so angry—”

  
“You thought you’d been tricked,” Merlin said, shrugging. “You’d just been humiliated in front of the court, and yeah, I’m not saying that part was particularly kingly, but the rest of it…Your instincts are good, Arthur. You just need to learn to believe in yourself more.” 

  
Arthur was silent for a while, and Merlin could almost _feel_ him thinking, one idle forefinger trailing absently up and down Merlin’s arm. At last, he said, “Were you really afraid I’d turn you over to my father?” 

  
Merlin caught his breath. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, because Arthur deserved to hear the truth. “I just—couldn’t picture it, you know? I couldn't understand why you trusted me to begin with, and I was afraid that if I told you, that would break whatever spell you were under and you’d hate me. I think I was mostly afraid that you’d hate me,” he added, as Arthur’s arms tightened around him. His heart was beating uncomfortably fast now, with so many things laid out in the open. Saying you trusted someone was easy, but it turned out actually doing it could be terribly, excruciatingly hard. “I’m sorry.”

  
Arthur nodded—Merlin felt it against his shoulder—but he didn’t say anything, so after a moment’s thought Merlin reached for his magic again, conjuring up a bright blue butterfly in his hand the way he used to do when he wanted to cheer up his mother. It perched on one finger, and he held it out to the prince. 

  
“It’s all for you, you know,” he said quietly. “All of it.” 

  
The huff of Arthur’s laughter made Merlin’s entire body contract with want. “Thank you,” Arthur said, sliding his hand down Merlin’s arm and curling their fingers together. Disturbed, the butterfly floated skyward, wings catching the light. “But I just want you.” 


	29. These Boots Are Made For Walking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #29: Boots / Shoes [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/an-official-unofficial-prompt-list-for-anyone) ]
> 
> I ended up tracing the outline for these boots, which I don’t normally do, because I was running out of time and WOW BOOTS ARE HARD, WHO KNEW. Still, it was a fun exercise.

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/633406384314187776/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-29-boots-by) ]

It wasn’t until Merlin was getting dressed again that he remembered the crystal. He had bundled it up in a scrap of cloth and put it in his pocket for safekeeping, and when he pulled his jacket on again he felt the weight of it bump against his hip, as though the crystal itself were reminding him that it was there. He pulled it out and unwrapped it cautiously, taking care to keep from touching it with his bare skin. What had Taliesin meant, he was going to need it? Need it for what? Presumably, it would allow him to see the future, or whatever those visions in the Crystal Cave had been, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to do that. It hadn’t been particularly fun the first time round. 

  
“You know, that looks kind of familiar,” Arthur said, coming up behind him. He plucked the crystal from Merlin’s hands, ignoring his yelp of protest, and examined it from all angles, running his fingers along one edge. “I think my father has one of these; I’ve seen it in the castle vaults.” 

  
“Your father’s been to the Crystal Caves?” Merlin asked, surprised.

  
“No, it was a relic from the Great Purge.” Arthur held the crystal up to the light and squinted at it. “He said it was important—that a lot of sorcerers were trying to keep it from him, but he wasn’t sure what it could do.” 

  
He was quiet for a moment, and Merlin guessed he was thinking about all the people who must have died if Uther had ended up with the stone anyway.

  
“Maybe there are a lot of them,” Merlin suggested, not wanting to dwell on Uther’s many crimes just now. Had Arthur been in his father’s shoes— _when_ Arthur was in his father’s shoes—things would be different. “But—no, if that were the case, it wouldn’t have been so special. Perhaps they come in pairs?” 

  
He reached out to take the crystal back from Arthur, and as he did so, their hands brushed, the cloth in Merlin’s palm slipping. His fingers touched the bare stone for only the briefest of moments, but that was all it took for the magic to catch.

  
Images flooded through him. He saw himself and Arthur kissing lazily in the four-poster bed, Merlin’s boots lying abandoned in the middle of the floor; saw Goblin in the kitchens, lapping at a massive saucer of milk, only to raise his head abruptly and stare straight at Merlin; saw King Bayard, shouting unintelligibly as one of his guards held a sword to Arthur’s throat—

  
He dropped the crystal. It clattered to the floor, the sound loud in the ensuing silence, and he and Arthur stared at one another, both breathing hard. Merlin didn’t have to ask to know that the prince had seen the visions too.

  
“We need to leave,” he said. “Right now.” 

  
“No,” Arthur said, and Merlin almost growled with aggravation. “If Bayard breaches the treaty, it will mean war with Camelot—it doesn’t make sense for him to try to hurt me.”

  
“Maybe he’s working for the White Ash,” Merlin suggested. “Or maybe he just got fed up and decided to turn against your father, I don’t know. Does it even matter? In case you didn’t notice, that man was going to _kill you_.” 

  
But Arthur waved that away as if it was of no consequence. “You don’t know that,” he said. “We only have two seconds of information to go on, and the context wasn't exactly clear. Besides, forewarned is forearmed, and we can’t just leave without finding out what Bayard is planning.” 

  
That made Merlin pause in spite of himself. What was it Taliesin had said? Some futures were not meant to be trusted? Perhaps what he'd Seen was only one possible outcome, the way things would have turned out if they hadn't been alerted to Bayard's plot. On the other hand, a sword was a sword was a sword, and he wasn’t about to risk the prince’s life on a possibility, not when they still had the chance to get away.

  
He opened his mouth to say as much, but a sudden knock at the chamber door cut him off.

  
“My lord?” came a voice from outside. “Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but His Majesty King Bayard has sent me to ask if you will be joining him for dinner.” 

  
Arthur’s eyes met Merlin’s. Knowing what the prince was asking, Merlin shook his head violently, willing Arthur to do the sensible thing and beg off so that they could escape. He saw Arthur hesitate for a moment longer, his jaw working, then he lifted his head and raised his voice.

  
“I'd be happy to,” he said, and Merlin ground his teeth in helpless frustration. “Please thank King Bayard for his kind invitation, and tell him I will be there shortly.” 


	30. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #30: Sinister / Ominous [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/a-prompt-list-for-anyone-interested-in-doing) ]
> 
> ALMOST THERE, FOLKS.

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/633464341602222080/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-30-sinister-by) ]

“Are you mad?” Merlin hissed, as soon as the servant’s footsteps had retreated back down the hall. “Why do you never listen to me? You’re going to get yourself _killed_!”

  
“No, I’m not,” Arthur said, with what Merlin considered to be undue levels of confidence. He smiled, clapping Merlin on the shoulder and giving him an affectionate little shake. “I’ve got you, haven’t I? Most powerful sorcerer in the world, and so on and so forth? Weren’t you just now pledging your magic to my service?” 

  
“You—But—I—” Merlin was blushing, which was ridiculous. He scowled. “That’s no excuse for being reckless!”

  
At last, Arthur’s expression sobered a little, and he slid his hand up Merlin’s shoulder to grip the back of his neck. “You know I can’t just leave,” he said, curling his fingers into the hair at Merlin’s nape and tugging it gently. “Quite apart from the fact that I’d be slighting Bayard’s hospitality, which might put our relations with Mercia at risk, I can’t condemn a man for something he hasn’t yet and may never do. I’ll be careful, I promise. But I have to at least give the king a chance.” 

  
Merlin bit down hard on his lower lip and looked away. He thought about the young Druid boy again—Mordred—and all the things the Great Dragon claimed lay in his future; about how close he had come to letting the boy die because of it. Arthur was a better man than he was, Merlin had known that already; he was far more inclined to see the good in people, whereas Merlin was all too ready to believe the worst. But perhaps it wasn't necessarily out of stupidity, even if it looked a hell of a lot like it sometimes. Maybe this, too, was a question of choice. 

  
“We’re all going to die,” he said, sighing as he gave in. Arthur let go of his neck and cuffed him around the back of the head.

  
“That’s why I love you, Merlin,” he said. “Your eternal optimism.” 

  
“And I love _you_ in spite of it,” Merlin said, and even with all of his anxiety, he couldn’t suppress a grin at Arthur's gobsmacked expression when he finally realised what he'd said.

+

If Bayard _was_ plotting anything sinister, he showed no signs of it when Merlin and Arthur entered his chambers. They found him seated at the head of a long dining table with a handful of noblemen, older men and women that Merlin guessed must be some of the senior members of his court. 

  
“Prince Arthur, there you are,” he said, standing to greet the prince with a friendly inclination of the head. “You are refreshed after your journey now, I trust?” 

  
“Yes, thank you, sire,” Arthur said, bowing back. He didn’t look at Merlin, who moved away to join the other servants at the back of the room, scanning the faces of Bayard’s guards to see if there was one he recognised. The vision had been too short, and his attention too focused on Arthur, however, for him to have spent much time looking at the assassin’s face, and he couldn’t decide which of them if any was the man who had attacked his prince. “And thank you again for your hospitality. I’m only sorry I didn’t arrive in time to enjoy the anniversary celebrations.” 

  
“As am I, as am I.” Bayard gestured for him to sit down, and Merlin pulled out Arthur’s seat for him—or rather, his magic pulled out the seat, and Merlin was only just in time to hold his hands out and make it look natural. Fortunately, the king didn’t seem to notice. “You must tell us all what happened to you. Bandits on the road, you said?” 

  
Had Merlin not seen what he had seen in the crystal, he might have been fooled into believing that King Bayard was exactly what he appeared to be—a loyal friend and ally. He listened with sincere interest to Arthur’s story of their adventures, expressing his regret that they had been so mistreated by his subjects and assuring the prince that he would do everything he could to root out the so-called Order of the White Ash before they could do further harm to innocent travellers. Arthur managed to leave out the part about Merlin’s magic, making it sound as though they’d escaped by virtue of luck and ingenuity rather than anything preternatural, and heavily implied that the Order had kidnapped him with a view to ransom rather than, as had actually been the case, as a means of ensuring Merlin submitted to their control.

  
The only time Bayard even glanced in Merlin’s direction was when Arthur mentioned that he had risked his life to free the prince from Mistress Maddy’s clutches. 

  
“Your servant shows you an extraordinary loyalty,” the king said, looking at Merlin over the top of his goblet. His eyes were a deep brown, almost black, and the expression in them made Merlin think of a raven or some other dark-winged bird, all ominous shadows and sparkling intelligence. He suppressed a shiver. “It’s fortunate for you that he was by your side when you were attacked.” 

  
“Yes,” Arthur agreed, catching Merlin’s eye. “Very fortunate indeed.” 

+

They got through the entire meal without incident, which perversely only made Merlin feel even more nervous. He followed Arthur out into the darkened hallway after the king dismissed them, skin prickling with the certainty that something, something was going to happen, but nothing did. Bayard didn’t even follow them out, and Arthur waited until they’d reached the far end of the hallway before turning to Merlin and saying,

  
“Well?”

  
“Well, I don’t know,” Merlin said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe the vision wasn’t supposed to happen tonight. It could have been tomorrow. Or maybe it’ll happen later, after we go to bed.”

  
“Or _maybe_ it’s not going to happen at all,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “Really, Merlin, you need to learn to stop looking a gift horse in the—”

  
And that was the exact moment that the assassin stepped out of the dark. 


	31. Kneel Before Your King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlinktober Day #31: Kneel / Crawl / Ride [ [prompts](https://merlinktober.tumblr.com/post/629778021672468480/a-prompt-list-for-anyone-interested-in-doing) ]
> 
> I decided to go a little off-book for this one, in part because I didn't have the time or the energy to do anything complicated and in part because, well. After everything they've been through, I think these two deserve to ride off into the sunset together, don't you? Or the sunrise, as the case may be.

A second man joined the first, and then a third. Merlin cursed. The trio in front of them were each wearing the uniform of King Bayard’s guardsmen, which was obviously how they had snuck into the castle, but they were just as obviously not members of the guard; when the first man held his sword tip to Arthur’s throat, the too-short sleeve of his chainmail rode up, revealing a vivid tattoo of the White Ash sigil on the pale skin of his wrist.

  
“Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot,” he intoned. “By the laws of my people, and the authority of the White Ash, you hereby stand condemned for the murder of High Priestess Madeline of the White Ash, and of countless innocents in the service of your father, the tyrant King Uther—”

  
“ _No_ ,” Merlin growled, taking a step forward. White flames licked into existence around his clenched fists, lighting up the corridor as he said, “ _Don’t touch him_.”

  
“Merlin,” Arthur warned, reaching out an arm to hold him back, and the first assassin looked over at him.

  
“Lord Emrys,” he said, inclining his head. “This is your final chance. Join us and—”

  
“That choice has already been made,” Merlin interrupted, his voice flat. “I won’t take it back.” 

  
“Then you die with him.” 

  
He drew back his sword, ready to make good on his words—but Merlin had grown tired of being threatened and chased, bitten and badgered all the way across the countryside, and what’s more he was tired of people threatening Arthur. He stepped forward, ducking under Arthur’s restraining arm, and let his still-volatile magic have free rein, sending the three men flying with a single wave of his hand. They crashed into the opposite wall, dislodging one of the sconces, and Merlin heard with a frisson of deja vu King Bayard’s voice shouting for the guards, the brutal clanging as the castle bell took up the alarm. 

  
When one of the assassins tried to scramble to his feet, Merlin caught him by the arm without even intending to move, holding him in place with scorching fingers. The man screamed. A burn on his skin smoked where the tattoo had been, and Merlin felt rather than saw the thin threads of connection that linked him to the other members of the Order—tiny, invisible filaments from which they drew their power. With a thought, he sent his own magic racing along the fragile strands like fire down a fuse, leaving only smoke and ash behind him. Their powers would come back, eventually, but it seemed only fitting that none of them would be able to use their magic for a long time to come. 

  
After that, things got a little hazy. One of the men tried to crawl towards his sword, but Arthur kicked it out of his reach and held him down with a knee to the small of his back, one hand gripping the man’s neck and the other holding a dagger he had drawn from somewhere about his person. Merlin had a moment to be relieved that the prince hadn’t waded into this mess _entirely_ unprepared, before the third man rushed at him, sword drawn, only to be attacked mid-stride by a yowling, spitting blur that turned out to be Goblin, summoned from the kitchens by the ruckus and determined to play his part.

  
By the time King Bayard and his guards had joined forces and surrounded them, the three Order members were kneeling on the floor, trussed up tightly in golden ropes of magic, and Arthur was getting to his feet, brushing the sweaty hair back off his forehead. 

  
“It seems that we are no longer needed,” Bayard said, looking over the five of them with raised eyebrows. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me why you’ve suddenly taken to brawling in the corridors, Prince Arthur?”

  
Arthur licked his lips, hesitating, then squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Sire, these men—”

  
But Bayard held up a hand. “No. On second thoughts, the less you tell me, the less I shall have to lie about when I next write to your father.” He studied Arthur for a moment. “If you give me your oath that you and your servant mean us no harm, then that is all that I require. Provided, of course, the terms of our treaty still stand.” 

  
_So I was right_ , he said into Merlin’s mind. _You_ are _Emrys_.

  
Merlin stared at him, aware that his mouth was hanging open, but too exhausted to even attempt to hide his surprise. _You’re a Druid?_

  
Bayard shrugged. _My mother was a practitioner_ , he said. _I don't use magic myself, but I know something of the Old Religion._

  
_But—but—you’re allied with Uther!_

  
_Political expedience._ The king looked almost amused. _Did you think the Druids are the only ones who know of the prophecies? Our people have heard tell of your coming, too, you know. And of his._

  
He turned his gaze on Arthur again, who was looking between Merlin and Bayard with an expression that said he knew something had happened but not what. He tilted his head at Merlin, who lifted one shoulder.

  
“Tell you later,” he said. “But I think we can trust him.” 

  
The quirk of Arthur’s lips said he was holding back an _I told you so_. He looked at Bayard. “You have my word,” he said. "Our treaty stands."

  
Bayard nodded, and at a gesture from him his guards sheathed their swords. “Take these three to the dungeons,” he said, nudging one of the would-be assassins with his boot. “I will escort Prince Arthur back to his rooms.” 

  
The guards did as they were told, pulling the three men down the corridor and out of sight. Merlin watched them go, still feeling dazed, until his attention was distracted once again by a cat weaving between his feet.

  
“Yours?” King Bayard asked. 

  
“Kind of.” Merlin still wasn’t sure, to be perfectly honest, but it would take more effort than it was worth to explain. “He belonged to the woman who held us hostage, but followed us here after we made our escape.”

  
“He might have belonged to her for a time,” Bayard said. “But he was not hers, I don’t think, or he wouldn’t have been called to serve you.” 

  
“Maybe.” Merlin scratched under Goblin’s chin, and was rewarded with an audible purr, the cat rubbing its head against his palm. He’d have to ask Gaius if he knew anything about familiars when he got back to Camelot; he had a feeling Goblin was going to prove to be a handful. “What happens now?”

  
“Now?” King Bayard began to walk, and after a moment’s hesitation Merlin and Arthur fell into step beside him, following him down the dark corridor towards their room. Merlin took the opportunity to scrutinise Arthur for injuries, only to find Arthur doing the same to him, a slight crease between his eyebrows. When he saw Merlin looking at him, however, he smiled. “Now, I believe the two of you have earned some rest. In the morning, I will make sure you have everything you need for your journey home.” 

  
_Be easy, Emrys_ , he said, meeting Merlin’s gaze. _You are safe now._

+

They did sleep in the end, curled up together in Arthur's big bed, Merlin's head pillowed on Arthur's shoulder and Goblin curled up by their feet. Arthur had softened towards him somewhat after his rescue of Merlin the night before, and even condescended to let him ride pillion when they set off early the following morning, laden down with supplies and finally reunited with what remained of his father’s men. Only two had been lost in the skirmish with the bandits, and the rest had made it out unscathed or with only minor injuries; Leon gave Arthur a full account of what had happened to them, but only after he’d caught the prince in a rib-cracking hug and exclaimed over him for several minutes.

  
“We thought you must be dead, sire,” he said, giving Arthur a brotherly clap on the back. “The bandits left off after we got separated—we figured out pretty quickly that they weren’t interested in us at all, but by the time we'd worked out what they really wanted, you were gone. We scoured the woods for days but found no trace of you.” 

  
“We…got a little sidetracked,” Arthur said, and Merlin snorted. “We ended up having to travel by foot, and for the most part we kept off the roads. It’s not surprising that you didn’t find us.” 

  
“Arthur was also held captive in a tower for several days,” Merlin added, unable to resist. “So that might explain it.” 

  
Leon’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “A tower,” he said, in tones that suggested he had just been given a tremendous gift. “Really?” 

  
“Shut up,” Arthur said, pointing a finger at him. “The first man who makes a princess joke will find himself in the stocks for a week.” 

  
“I wouldn’t dream of it, sire,” Leon said solemnly, but Merlin heard him chuckling to himself as they rode out of the castle gates, the sky lit vibrant pink by the early morning sun as they began the long journey home.

[ [reblog](https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/post/633485677684785152/schweet-arts-merlinktober-day-31-ride-by) ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand that's a wrap, folks! I can't believe I made it! Thank you so, so much to everyone who read, kudosed, commented and reblogged throughout the month; your encouragement and support really helped to keep me going. It's been so much fun sharing this with all of you – now let's never do it again 😘❤️


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